


The Little Witch That Could

by 4hx3n4



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter are Siblings, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, because fuck rowling and her dumbass decision to kill off every morally good character in the series, i wouldn't say this is dark at all but like i guess there are parts that could be?, let's fix every sing thing i disagree with in the books and save sirius black while we're at it, ohana means family and family means everyone survives, sorry if the writing is weird i've been writing academic papers for the past 6 years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4hx3n4/pseuds/4hx3n4
Summary: As Wizarding Britain begins to mend after Voldemort's reign, everyone is simply trying to figure out how to deal with the consequences of their actions. For Hermione Granger, this is a goal unprecedented in difficulty. Healing, just like learning, has never been a linear process.A story detailing the long and slow healing process from severe trauma and high expectations.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, hermione granger/her dying sanity
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Y'all,
> 
> I haven't really written any long form fanfic for the last 10 years, so please be gentle with my idiot ass. These first six chapters were all written in the past 24 hours when I should've been doing research for my thesis instead. Turns out after doing research every single day for 3 months on Baroque Performance Practice you get kinda tired.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this works for some people. Let me know what y'all like or don't like and what plot holes I leave bc there are bound to be about a billion. Love u all have a good day remember to drink water and wear a mask!!

In their last moments standing together in Dumbledore’s office, a part of Hermione Granger broke. 

For the entirety of the nine months she had been on the run, her mind never stopped. It held panic, fear, and the ferocious fire of a woman that knew she was right, knew her goal, and knew how to attain it. She had worked relentlessly, nonstop, despite the untold trauma done to her. She had kept quiet of her own emotions, save for when Ron had abandoned them, and planned into infinity.

But she had never planned to survive. This had not been in her end result. To think that she, a muggleborn, Harry Potter’s best friend, most vocal and problematic factor to Voldemort’s plan, would ever survive? It was beyond comprehension.

As she looked up at the smiling portrait of Dumbledore, she felt nothing. Not numb. No sadness, no pain - nothing. A rapturous void filled her person as Harry and Ron began to move from the room.

“Hermione?” Harry called from the doorframe, uncertain of the moment she was sharing with her deceased Headmaster. 

A million silent words came to her lips, all of them incapable of coming to fruition. Nodding a terse goodbye to the Headmaster, she turned and followed the boys from the room. Her boys. All she had left. All she would ever have left.   
  
\----

The three separated ways on the great staircases. Ron, wanting to check in on his full family for the first time since the war, left for the Great Hall. He had invited the two to join him, but Harry had denied in favour of finding somewhere quiet and soft to safely sleep, for the first time in his life without the fear of someone coming to get him. Hermione, hungry for work, had elected to go to the hospital wing, where she suspected her perfected healing charms may be put to better use. All were too tired, emotionally and physically, to argue with one another. 

Hogwarts was a whole different world than the one she had stepped into hours previous. The halls were silent, and though not foreboding, oddly haunted in a distinctly non-magical way. For the first time she did not see active portraits, nor ghosts, nor any sign of extant magics. When she would pass areas damaged by the battle, she made a mental note of it, until the point at which the mental note became redundant - at that point she started making a physical list, charmed to identify even the smallest bit of damage.

By the time she actually made it to the hospital wing, the list was longer than she was tall. 

She was unsurprised that, upon opening the great doors to the wing, she was met with rows and rows of bodies. Some lay oddly still, others shifted and moaned in pain. It was evident that the makeshift hospital of the Great Hall had been quickly dismantled and moved back to where it was meant to be, though who completed the process and when, Hermione could not figure out.

Speaking to Nurse Wainscott rather than Madame Pomfrey (who was predisposed with a particularly loud older man whom she did not recognize, though for the better for she knew Pomfrey would have tied her to a bed to rest), she set to work healing the non-magical wounds of those that could find it possible to leave. Though she knew she could employ some basic curse and jinx healing, having done it for Harry and Ron numerous times over the past 7 years, she also knew that it would bring her further into Madame Pomfrey’s working bubble, which she was unwilling to risk. 

Hanah Abbott, accompanied by Neville, had a concussion and broken jaw from flying debris; Luna also had deep gashes, healed with no long-term damage; Milicent Bulstrode, a surprising defector from the other side, thanked her profusely for helping to splint and begin mending a broken femur and cracked skull having been picked up and thrown by one of Voldemort’s giants; Oliver Wood, who had second-degree burns from a particularly violent  _ incendio _ . 

She helped Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes professor, to remove what looked like one of the Hogwarts Defenders’ javelins, which had impaled her through the abdomen and required an excess of essence of dittany and a series of knitting spells to heal through. An unknown 5th year Ravenclaw student by the name of Jeremy had had their foot jinxed off by a stray curse, and she had to gently explain that it was not possible to reattach said foot - this, of course, was met by much crying and a silent prayer to high Heaven that the magical world had better options for physically disabled folk than the Muggle world did. 

Hermione also saw to a very bloody Remus Lupin, fussed over by Tonks (who could be heard from afar reaming him out for blatant stupidity), who had chosen to fist fight none other than Fenrir Greyback and subsequently shattered all the bones in his hands, four ribs, dislocated a shoulder, and practically doubled the number of scars on his bodies in the process. When Hermione asked Remus why, he responded with a noncommittal shrug, declaring that “it just felt right.” The look of exasperation written across Tonks’ face was almost enough to cause her to laugh. Almost.

Having spent a not insignificant amount of time doing the best she could for the simpler flesh wounds of the living, she moved to the silent side of the hall. Systematically, she began identifying those she knew and trying to find information on those she didn’t. Some had pictures of loved ones stuffed in their robes with members of their family that she knew, others with a more morbid final letter often titled “to whomever may find me”, others still with no indication of who they were, what they stood for, or why they came. 

This group included Lavender Brown, whose torn throat and face she carefully cleaned of blood and wrapped gently in cloth so that her family would not have to see the extent of the damage. Colin Creevey lay not far away, having taken what Hermione hoped was a much more peaceful  _ Avada Kedavra _ . A spattering of younger students she had tutored while at Hogwarts also found their places in this section; 6th year Emmy from Hufflepuff (avid hater of Transfiguration until she finally understood it in her 4th year), 6th year Raif from Gryffindor (who could never quite get the hang of Ancient Runes), 5th year Blaine and 7th year Laurel (siblings from Ravenclaw that she helped indiscriminately until she couldn’t). 

Cleaning and making neat the dead bodies of these children, who by all means were not supposed to be anywhere near the battle, the void inside of Hermione deepend. This was never meant to happen. This was not in the plan. How did she ever think it would be acceptable to bring a battle to a place with children? For Voldemort it would have been a nonissue, but as someone who wanted to fight for a better lives for these children? One not of fear but of enjoyment and bliss? 

“Miss  _ Granger! _ ” 

A voice cut through her inner monologue of despondency. Whipping around, Hermione found herself face to face with Madame Pomfrey who looked equal parts outraged, concerned, and pitying. “Who gave you permission to work in this hospital wing?” 

“Nurse Wainscott, ma’am. I’ve dealt with anyone having flesh wounds, I figured I would leave those with magical problems to you and help the other -” 

Hermione was cut off by a swift hand motion from Pomfrey indicating her silence. For a brief moment, Hermione was sure she was about to be thrown from the wing or else violently reprimanded for not gaining proper approval before working. Instead, Madame Pomfrey deflated a degree and looked warily around at the 50-odd bodies, approximately half of which were cleaned and presented with parchments indicating their names, ages, or when unsure, possible family members.

Madame Pomfrey sighed, gently taking Hermione’s hand and leading her out from the dead’s section, “Thank you for your work, dear, but  _ please _ , either wait to be seen yourself or find those terrors you call friends. You must be exhausted, and even if you’re helping others, you’re going to end up hurting yourself.” 

Enveloping Hermione in a quick motherly hug, Pomfrey dismissed her and returned to work. Coming back to awareness at her surroundings, Hermione realized that a medical team from St Mungo’s had arrived and what she could only assume was taken the most severe cases. The room was much emptier than it was when she first arrived.  _ Well that explains the sudden nurse barrage _ , Hermione mused. 

\----

Wandering again through the castle, scroll out for notes, she searched for more ways to escape herself. The battle had ended early morning, with her, Harry, and Ron leaving the Headmaster’s office at what she could only guess was around 8am. Conjuring the time, that placed her at roughly 5 hours of work completed in the Hospital Wing. 

_ Sufficient, but not enough _ .

She didn’t feel like eating. Frankly, she couldn’t fathom it. Something just felt  _ wrong _ . The light lazily making its way through the windows to show the now-settled dust was wrong. The blue sky was wrong. The new movement of portraits was wrong. The smell, sweet spring mixed with a faint burning, was wrong. 

She wondered where her parents were right now - if they were safe and healthy. Knowing her spellwork was typically immaculate, it was obvious that she wouldn’t have to worry about them knowing of her existence, but it was also obvious that she would never see them again. 

Glancing to her scroll, she realized it had stopped taking notes.  _ For the love of God _ … she knew that the spell she employed would stop after a certain time, especially given the detail, but she didn’t realize how little it would actually record.   
  


“Fourth floor south hallway minor… fourth floor minor.. fourth floor… clock tower hallway major… grand stair- is anything on this sheet  _ not _ in the last 600 meters?!” Hermione cried, throwing the parchment against the wall, “utterly useless!” 

She vanished the heavy scroll without a second thought. It wouldn’t matter. 

_ Just like every other damn thing I do now _ . 

Hermione moved to the nearest window and looked out, seeing nothing but the beauty of the Scottish countryside. Where she wanted to see signs of an apocalypse, she saw the deep green pine trees that constituted the vast forests surrounding Hogwarts. A sea of grass - lush and full of life - bordered the castle. Fresh water of the Black Lake shone in the afternoon sun. And yet, despite the almost indecent look of nature in balance in front of her, all she could see in her mind’s eye were the bodies of the dead and injured, the hatred disfiguring the faces of unmasked death eaters, and the sneer of Lord Voldemort after Harry’s not-death. 

And it was in that moment that Hermione finally noticed how utterly alone she was. 


	2. A woman at war with herself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actively trying to not name these chapter silly and dumb things but my god is that hard as fuck when you only have one brain cell

The next few days passed in a blur. 

Hermione had personally taken up the reins of Hogwarts’ reconstruction under Professor McGonagall’s guidance. Between the creatures that had been permitted to be active within the castle and the many unbridled spells cast by both sides, it was of quite some surprise that the castle had remained standing in the first place.

She had taken to living in the Great Hall with a few other friends - Neville had also stayed to help Professor Sprout get a handle on a few greenhouses that had suffered damage, Luna stayed to make sure Neville was okay and to help some of the reconstruction, the Weasley twins had also remained to help repair things, and Harry had simply refused to leave. Those that took to fixing the castle had a mechanical way of living - early rise, eat, work until the sun went down, rinse, repeat. The monotony of work was pacifying. Purposeful.

Six days after the battle, it was discovered by Hermione and the ragtag group of Order members and Professors assigned to fixing the castle that Hogwarts had begun to heal by itself. The welcome surprise brought itself to light when, while Theory Professor Frey had attempted to magically hold up a section of ceiling on the second floor to allow Fred Weasley to reinforce the area, the castle had decided to take the matter out of the mens’ hands and knit itself back together brick by brick. Both men, absolutely dumbfounded, reported back to McGonagall, who had just found the exact same thing to have happened on the wall she was piecing back together. 

Having witnessed the event firsthand, Hermione was conflicted.

For most, this was both an amazing feat of magic rarely seen and a welcome relief of their work. Upon learning of this newfound feature, Filch was seen suspiciously examining even the tiniest cracks as though he could will the castle into submission to himself. Fleur came into the exact opposite response, as both her and her husband decided that it was now evident that the castle did not need as many hands as originally thought. Fred and George only stayed around for a few more days before returning to their shop. Though good news, Hermione found herself slightly heartbroken. Just as soon as she had found herself to have something that needed her, it was gone. 

_ It’s fine, there will always be more to do, it’s fine.. It’s fine… _

But there wasn’t. 

Day by day, the fix-it list for the castle shortened considerably. By the two week mark of the battle, only the smaller areas requiring work remained. For some reason, the castle refused to repair these areas itself; small, person-sized holes were strewn about hallways where most of the wreckage was brought back to order, but not all. Areas that once had large expanses of wall completely blown from existence had filled in only what needed to be for safety and structure. 

It was these smaller areas that were left to Professors to deal with. On the 15th day after the battle, Hermione was dismissed by McGonagall. 

“Are you sure I can’t just.. do something? I mean the Professors must have a lot to do before the school year next year, especially catching up children that didn’t have the opportunity to attend this year!” Hermione begged, trying desperately to keep her inner drive going somehow.

McGonagall shook her head, pat Hermione on the cheek in what Hermione assumed was supposed to be a motherly fashion but instead came off rather deprecating, and smiled, “I know you love to work, Hermione, but you need a break more than anyone else in this castle right now.” 

“I don’t agree with that statement.”   
  
McGonagall pursed her lips in disapproval. “You aren’t meant to. Go home, Miss Granger - and take Potter with you. Merlin knows he needs to figure himself out somewhere that  _ isn’t _ where he nearly died.” 

Feeling thoroughly dejected, Hermione mumbled out a sort of agreeing series of sounds and left to find Harry. Despite being the most known and sought out person currently at Hogwarts, this was a surprisingly difficult feat, which she realized was mostly due to the fact that she hadn’t spent much time with her closest friend since the battle. Shaking this realization from her head, she stepped out onto the grounds for the first time in two weeks.

In truth, Hermione had avoided leaving the castle. In her head, if she just remained inside, tucked away from the real world, she wouldn’t have to face the mortifying ordeal of post-war existence or life after death.

She found Harry near Hagrid’s hut, just beyond the treeline for the forbidden forest. Slowing down her purposeful march, she watched him, etching into her mind the image of a carefree Harry. Sitting in the shade of the trees, hidden from the presence of the universe, he napped while Fang cuddled his enormous body into his side. It was as though Harry was a small child next to the bloodhound, and with a pang of realization, Hermione knew this is how it could’ve been in a simpler world - where his parents weren’t mercilessly cut down by a terrorist, his godfather wasn’t wrongfully incarcerated and then murdered, and he didn’t live with the abuse dealt by the Dursleys. 

_ He’s so young. _

_ He deserves so much more _ .

Fang lifted his head to sniff for her oncoming form, inviting her to share their quiet moment, and seemingly trying to show her that she was still young, too. Denying the dog’s offering, Hermione stopped at the edge of the treeline, sitting in the unseasonable Scottish spring sun. 

She waited patiently until she saw Harry start to stir from his deep slumber. Fang nuzzled him until he came fully to, and proceeded to leave the two alone as though he relinquished Harry’s safety to Hermione. 

“That dog would die for you, you know. Even though he is an ancient coward.” Hermione said, gesturing to the old dog hobbling back to the hut. Ever since first year, the two seemed to have curated an odd sort of connection, much to Harry’s initial dismay.

Harry grumbled, stretching his back from the uneven surface of the forest floor. “Were you watching me sleep? That’s a little overbearing, even for you, ‘Mione.”

“It is not  _ my _ fault that  _ you _ were sleeping when I came to find you. And you looked peaceful! I didn’t want to disturb.” 

Harry scoffed. “Peaceful?” 

“Do you not feel at peace?”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Rubbing his face, he moved to start to stand up before thinking better of it. Staring further into the abyss of the forest, he finally spoke.

“What I  _ feel _ is that I died two weeks ago, a significant amount of people are dead because of me, my two best friends up and disappeared because they were needed elsewhere, and all people want to do is talk to me about how cool it was that I murdered a lunatic. So I guess whatever emotion that is.”

Hermione frowned. “Abandoned?”

For the first time since he woke up, Harry turned to look at her, as though weighing her answer. After a moment of thought, he nodded and leaned back into the crevice of the tree. The two sat and stared at each other in silence, taking in the comfort of each others’ presence and comparing states.

Where Harry looked well rested, well fed, and rightfully indignant, Hermione looked… well, she looked exactly how she did before they came to Hogwarts at the start of May. Tired. Stressed. Starved. Anxious. 

“Where have you been, Hermione?”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “Here? Hogwarts? You see me every day.. We literally sleep next to each other in the hall, Harry.” Hermione tried for a joking tone, but it just came out thin. 

“No, I mean like.. Where have you been up here?” Harry tapped his head. When Hermione gave no answer, he got up from his tree cocoon and offered his hand to her. “Come on then, we’re gonna go for a walk and we’re gonna talk and you’re not allowed to say no because I just killed that one lunatic, remember?” 

At this, Hermione did laugh. For the first time in who knows how long, she allowed a deep, full belly laugh. Looking up at Harry who no longer looked like the young boy she had just approached, she accepted his hand and pulled herself up. “Never in my seven years of knowing Harry James Potter did I ever think he would want to talk to me about _emotions_ and _regular_ _problems_.” 

“Well, Hermione Jean Granger, I assure you I am absolutely chock-full of surprises.” 

“I very seriously doubt that.”

\----

The two spent most of the day walking around the grounds and Hogwarts and talking. What they wanted for the future, maybe what they would like to do as their jobs now that they had options and a life. Ideas that they had kept secret for years for fear of the universe taking their hope from them just as they had the strength to share it with the world. As it turned out, Harry had no aspirations for life beyond “survive until next year”, just like Hermione, so they instead turned to the most grand and facetious ideas they could muster about how the other would conduct their lives. 

“Mione, I’m telling you: you’re  _ going _ to become the One Great Unifier of all magic communities and  _ you’re going to like it _ !” Harry stated with the utmost conviction.

Hermione let out a great guffaw at his proclamation, “and YOU, Harry, will become the leading head of the hair fashion industry! Just look at those lush locks! A look to  _ die _ for!” Grabbing his head and ruffling her fingers through his hair, she made his hair even wilder than it was already. “Or better yet, you’ll be head Auror, taking down evil wizards until you croak.”

Harry fake retched. If there was one thing he refused to do, it was that. “One evil wizard was enough, frankly.”

They cackled like the Weasley twins once did, filling the halls of Hogwarts with sounds of not only healing, but of relief. Though the void in the pit of Hermione’s stomach was not full in the slightest, other parts of her being began the slow ascent toward healing - whatever that end meant. As the two came toward a small group of working professors, they quieted their rambunctious attitudes out of respect to quietly slip by, though not without a slight titter at a quiet argument that seemed to be afoot between professors Flitwick and Sinstra. 

“Why didn’t you leave Hogwarts when everyone else involved with repairs and healing did? I know it’s just an extra week, I just assumed..” Hermione let the question roll nonchalantly and carelessly a few paces past earshot, as though not thought out at all. In reality, she had been planning to ask the question immediately when she found Harry, but it had flown the coop as soon as she saw his sleeping form.

Harry remained silent. Not even for a short period of time; his silence ate minutes from their walk, to the point at which Hermione almost felt the need to apologize for the intrusion. 

“The wards of Hogwarts were reapplied only hours after the battle ended. I wanted to leave as soon as I could after, but knowing that I was safe, hidden, at home again for the first time in who knows how long.. I couldn’t give it up, Mione. I know I have to eventually, but I just.. I couldn’t give up knowing I was safe again. I’m so tired of running” 

They walked in silence after that, her question a somber reminder of the reality they had been avoiding in the first place. Harry could practically hear the thoughts running through Hermione’s head, but refrained from commenting further.

“I think I’m going to run and send a quick letter before supper. Can I borrow Hedwig?” Hermione asked quietly as they wove their way back through the castle to the entrance hall. 

Harry shrugged, “as long as she lets you. She didn’t look at me for days after the battle ended - a bit sour we left her behind, I think.” 

“Her and everyone else.. I’ll be back in an instant.”

Giving Harry a quick hug and one last hair ruffle, Hermione bounded toward the aviary, intent in her heart of giving him something to look forward to for once.

  
  


\----

On her way back from the owlery, she noticed she had time left before the Great Hall would start serving. Darting up the stairs, she paid no mind to anything in her surroundings until she reached the Headmasters’ quarters. 

Praying that no professor would be up there, she bypassed the gargoyle by dancing her bluebell flames up its spine, her own secret password, and quickly ascended. Finding no one within, she sat in front of the portrait of Dumbledore and stared while the portrait snoozed. 

“Sir?”

The painting did not budge.

“Headmaster Dumbledore?”

Still, his figure did not move. 

Raising her voice, she called out, “Albus!”

All she received in response was an angry “ssh!” and “hush!” from two nearby headmaster portraits. Dumbledore’s portrait remained fast asleep. 

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black turned to her from his own deep slumber, calling to her, “If he needed you, he’d wake up. Seems your time is over, little girl. Get back to class.”

She left without another word. It would work next time. If she was sure of anything, it was that war never ended with one battle.


	3. Doors

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ It’s good to hear from you about something that doesn’t involve the castle or the war. A few of us checked it out last night - though it was definitely thoroughly searched by the Death Eaters, it seems Grimmuald really didn’t have much bad done to it after Yaxely. Both Charlie and I had a tough time finding any dark magic left behind that we couldn’t deal with, and the parts that were more problematic Lupin sorted out in fast fashion. Turns out they didn’t exactly use their best and brightest on the place. _

_ Whenever the two of you feel is right, you can feel free to pop on out. We re-did the wards as strong as ever, and you’re both keyed in. I hope Harry can find a sort of home there, even if it’s not permanent. _

_ Also should probably say: the basement door refuses to open. We really can’t figure out why, but we didn’t detect anything behind it that was dangerous. Dad said he’ll have a quick look tomorrow, but honestly no one can even remember there was a basement in the first place. Maybe Sirius hid it. _

_ Best, _

_ Bill _

“Harry?”

Hermione nudged Harry where they sat at the lakeside. It had been almost a week since she owled out to Bill Weasley to enlist his help as cursebreaker and fellow sibling-at-heart to Harry, and she had grown nervous with every day that passed. She couldn’t help but feel she was taking advantage of the Weasley clan when they should all be spending as much time together as possible. 

Both she and Harry had been invited to live at the Burrow by Molly the night after the battle, though they had both denied the offer for their own reasons. Ultimately, they both felt it would feel wrong. Ron, taking this as a slight, hadn’t been in contact with either of them since, though the rest of the siblings at home all sent word that they understood, even if they didn’t. She would always appreciate that family, just likely from a bit further away than they would like.

Harry grunted in response to her and half-looked in her direction. 

Quickly, without thinking, Hermione rambled out, “I have an offer for you and I want you to tell me you won’t get mad before I offer it.” 

He turned to look at her fully, one eyebrow raised in an amused question, “um. Right? Okay?”

Hermione took a deep breath in. “I got Charlie and Bill and Professor Lupin to go through Grimmuald and (please don’t get mad at me) and clean out the house in case the Death Eaters left traps or things to hurt us after I brought them there (which I’m also sorry for) but they also re-did the wards so it’s safe to go there and you won’t be badgered by other people?” she ranted out in one long, drawn out sentence. At a further raise of Harry’s brows, she continued, “I just thought that we could clean it out and refurbish it together and do something engaging and fun without worrying too much about consequentialism?” 

At this, Harry laughed and shook his head. She immediately felt her stomach drop, as she had really hoped that they could find something to do that wouldn’t reinforce the abject loss they both felt. Maybe she could try getting him to move out to Hogsmeade? There were a few good homes there. Or maybe try and refurbish his parents’ home at Godric’s Hollow, though that may be too well known by the public..

As if hearing her mind start to race with new possibilities, Harry cut her out of her train of thought, saying gently, “Hermione, that sounds wonderful.”

“Oh! Okay.” 

They fell back into companionate silence for a brief period while Hermione re-collected herself. After a moment, she came to.

“Did Sirius ever mention to you anything about the basement?” 

“The what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately, “the basement? You know, like that thing that’s under-”

“I know what a basement is!” Harry cut her off in mock anger, “Grimmuald doesn’t have one. As far as I know, at least. I mean, we could ask Kreacher, but honestly I’d rather perish at the hands of some cursed basement than talk to him right now.”

Hermione shook her head. “You know, you’ve become quite the drama queen since you died - though that’s not to say you weren’t one before.” glancing at Harry with a somber expression, she attempted a drawl like their least-favourite potions master, “ _ so  _ much like your dreadful father,  _ Potter _ .” 

The two again fell into cackling laughter, purposefully repressing the concept that they had left their potions professor to possibly die painfully and alone only three weeks previous. To their knowledge, his body was never recovered, though neither of them attempted to find out more. It was one less thing to worry about, as long as neither of them brought it to conversation. Their irrational and hysteric laughter was cut short by a voice from afar. 

“What in Merlin’s name has you two so manic?” a voice called from behind them. 

Hermione instinctively jumped up, wand drawn and smile gone, while Harry rolled to his stomach and cast a  _ protego _ in front of her, waiting for her next move. The two only slightly relaxed their position upon realizing it was only Remus, who was now approaching much slower with his hands out in surrender. 

“What did Tonks call you on the morning of the 2nd?” Hermione called from their position, having seen him stop a number of yards away.

He grimaced, “my lovely wife called me a ‘right fucking twat’ and an ‘egregious dickhole’ in a room full of injured people and demanded I bend to her will for the rest of our lives.” 

Hermione slowly lowered her wand while Harry ended his protego and pulled himself up off the ground. The three stood in stalemate against each other for what felt like an eternity before Remus cautiously walked forward to close the gap. 

Attempting to break the stiff silence, he tried casual conversation. “You’re still on high alert, I gather? Harry, I didn’t take you for a protection person.” 

Harry looked to Hermione, who shrugged. “Call it habit, I guess. I’m better at beating the shit out of people, while Harry’s really good at making sure we don’t get hit by things, magical or otherwise.” 

Remus seemed somewhat taken aback by her blunt response, having never heard her swear nor admit to her terrifying power in even casual dueling. Dismissing this new Hermione in front of him as just the result of being on the run for so long, he persisted.

“I take it you’ve gotten Bill’s letter then?”  
  
Harry and Hermione both nodded.

“Would you like to take a wander on over? Teddy’s down for a nap right now and Dora has elected to take one with him, and Andromeda is looking after them both, so I’m presently out of both a wife and a son. And I suppose a mother-in-law.”

Harry looked between his two friends, both incredibly tense and unsure of each other. “We’d love to, Professor Lupin,” he said, nudging Hermione into agreeing. Obvious to both men, she was still ready to attack, wand gripped tightly in hand. 

“If right now is a bad time I can always come back later.. Or you two can go alone, it’s fine. I’m a bit worried about that basement, though.” Remus’ eyebrows knit together as he recalled the strange recessed door off the kitchen.

Harry again reaffirmed their acceptance, and for the first time in three weeks, Hermione and Harry left the sanctuary of Hogwarts.

\----

It had taken a few rooms of examination, but Hermione’s trigger-happy nature quickly turned over into analysis. From room to room, she made a list of everything she wanted to get done, Harry’s “vision” (which, more often than not, was just her vision with a few tweaks), and practical things such as fixing floorboards, plastering ceilings, and deep-cleaning draperies.

When the three finally made their way to Grimmuald’s awe-inspiring library, Hermione was let loose into her own little world. During the Order’s occupation, all deadly and dark books had been removed to Dumbledore’s personal selection, which then was given to Hogwarts after his passing. Knowing she would be safe to do whatever she pleased, she began to meander through the packed, ceiling-height bookshelves, reacquainting herself with the room she had most loved in her teenage experience.

Noticing her complete loss of reality at the pages of the books Remus quietly called out, “Harry, could I borrow you for a second?”

“Of course.”   
  


Remus led Harry from the library to the sitting area just outside, leaving the door completely open. Peeking back to double check Hermione had both seen the two leave and could see them from the doorway, Remus tentatively began questioning Harry.

“Is there a reason why Hermione was so unhappy with seeing me today?”

Harry looked confused, “no, isn’t she usually like that?”

It took all of Remus’ willpower to not show the intense exasperation he felt, and even more not to aggressively facepalm. Harry was a wonderful kid, but by Merlin was he utterly unobservant sometimes. 

“No, Harry, she usually doesn’t actively look like she wants to kill me when I greet the two of you.” 

Harry tried to laugh his accusation off unsuccessfully. With a less-than-genuine shrug, he said, “She didn’t want to kill you, she just.. gets worried sometimes. You know how she is - all fire, all energy, all the time.” he glanced back in the library to see Hermione sat on the floor, engrossed by a large tome. “I think she’s just having trouble unlearning how to be a soldier. We all are. She just doesn’t know how to stop”

Remus followed Harry’s line of sight and sighed.  _ Soldiers _ . Few had said it outright, but it was true. Though not to the extent of Hermione Granger. She was the one guarantee, Dumbledore had said. The one chip that needed to fall in a specific place. If she didn’t, everything would be lost. Remus knew that, next to Harry, she was the most intensely groomed to be the perfect pawn. Her teachers were all told to act more rigorously toward her, that she could take it, and that she needed to be the absolute best at everything - that she was plan B if plan A failed. And she would not fail.

He would’ve admired her drive, had she not been a literal child.

“Do me a favor - keep an eye on her, and try to get her to unstring herself. Dumbledore did neither of you a kindness when you were chosen to complete what he screwed up. I want to see you both flourish someday.”   
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘chosen’?”

_ Shit. Fuck. Bad. _ “It’s complicated, Harry.” He immediately regretted his remark.

Harry took a step back from Remus and evaluated him from head to toe. He seemed like the same man he had looked up to as a teen and the same man he argued with only months before in the same house - but at the present moment, Remus seemed.. Guilty? Scared? Looking back at Hermione, who had now drawn out two other books, he felt as though a cold wind blew through his heart. Chosen.  
  
Stiffly, Harry turned back to Remus. “You will come with us to the basement door. You will help us examine it. And then you will leave. And you will not come back until you are ready to explain all of these _complications_.” He stared into Remus’ eyes, wishing he had learned legilimency exclusively for that very moment, before turning back into the library to gather Hermione. 

\----

Arthur and Ron Weasley apparated onto Grimmuald’s doorstep not 3 minutes later, making for a significantly more awkward trek to the basement door. Bounding and happy to see his two children (“more or less, as Molly likes to say!”) Arthur led them all to the small recess of the basement door, excitedly describing what could have caused it, while Ron hung back behind the group saying nothing. No one was quite sure why Ron had decided to come along, and he gave no explanation. 

The door itself was a door like any other door in the house. Inoffensive, sizeable, of a heavy wood. A regular door handle, without a lock. It was…. Just A Door.

“There is no way we couldn’t have seen this before. It’s a trap. It has to be.” Harry declared immediately upon seeing it.

Remus shook his head. “If it was a trap, do you not think the literal cursebreaker Bill would’ve at least found something wrong with it? Charlie, who works with dragons and has to understand complex spellwork? Me, who wrote the whole curriculum for Defense Against The Dark Arts?” 

Hermione took a mental note to ask him later about whether or not he wrote it before or after Lockhart.  _ I can’t see the buffoon ever following anyone else’s syllabus, to be fair _ ..

“It might just be a forget-me-not that vanished when the person that casted it died?” Hermione offered, scanning it with her own set of tailor-made spells and coming up fruitless. Though she was not herself a cursebreaker, that didn’t mean she didn’t meticulously study the process before the trio ran.  
  
Remus and Arthur both nodded. “Frankly, that’s what most of us think - though the big question now is whose charm was it, and what were they hiding.” Remus said, unsurprised that Hermione was the one to immediately come to the same conclusion. 

“Well.. logically it would have to be someone who had access to this house before Sirius’ imprisonment, seeing as it was his and under the Fidelius by the time he was arrested. That’s an incredibly limiting list of people that both fall under the Black tree…” Hermione stopped herself, letting the men in the room fall to their own logical conclusions without bias from her opinions.

“Bellatrix?” Arthur asked.

“Or Narcissa. She did defect. Or really, come to think of it, Andromeda was a Black before she was disowned..” Remus mused.

“Has anyone just tried opening it?” Ron asked from the kitchen doorway. All eyes swung back to him as if confused by his question.

Restating himself, as though he wasn’t heard the first time, Ron doubled down on his line of thinking. “If no one has opened it we can’t just assume it’s inherently bad. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Remus, you said yourself, no one could detect any more dark magic or curses on the entire house. We just need to open the damn door.” 

With this decision in mind, Ron marched over to the basement door, took the handle in his hand, and gave a great tug.

And nothing happened.

The door was locked.

Absolute silence hit the room like a bludger to the head. 

“Ronald… did you really think none of us tried to just.. Open the door?” Remus asked, genuinely trying to conceive of what had just happened.

Ron, unperturbed by the immense shock damage he had just subject the room to, simply shrugged his shoulders. “If there is anything I’ve learned from being friends with Hermione for this long, it’s that wizards typically never do things the easy way. Right, Mione?” 

And with that, he left the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm not gonna try and write Ron as an idiot cause god damn it he's right okay? he's god damn right


	4. Are gateways to the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've gotten this far: look, i love doors, and if Crit Role can obsess over a fuckin chair i can obsess over this got damn door okay  
> Also i wrote this at 1am and was like, so close to turning it into a horror story but frankly the only horror story here is what albus dumbledore allowed to happen to my fav little bookworm

She found it hard to articulate what exactly was happening.

They had only moved to Grimmuald a week prior and she was already collapsing - mentally and physically. Every night without fail, Hermione would suffer from severe night terrors - beyond nightmares. Every night it was something different, but so vivid. The first night, she woke but didn’t open her eyes out of intense fear of whatever was in her room. It didn’t feel human, was certainly neutral in her head, but it wouldn’t stop staring at her. It wouldn’t stop _looking_.

The second night, she saw the corpses of those she cleaned hung on the walls of her room. It was at this point that she realized that it wasn’t a haunting, it was her own brain.

The third night, she woke to Bellatrix crouched on her chest like a classic rendition of a sleep demon, ready to claw away at her insides should she move.

By the fourth night, she was ready to just move back to Hogwarts. Obviously, something was wrong with the house. When she tried to bring it back up to Harry, he was far too happy to even notice what was happening. She wouldn’t press the issue.

Now, at night seven, she looked at her bed, and decided it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth the terror that was bound to happen. She didn’t want to wake up to see herself being tortured, or the dead that she loved, or the flayed corpses of her parents, or anything. She couldn’t do it again.

She suspected that it was because there was little to do beyond basic home renovations. At least at Hogwarts it was large and consequential but here… she couldn’t work herself to exhaustion in the same way. Either her brain wouldn’t stop whirring, or her body physically wouldn’t be tired enough to sleep.

Taking herself and her intense fatigue to the library, she picked up a book and began mindlessly reading through it. Frankly, she wasn’t really reading, especially considering she already read and annotated this copy of _Endangered and Dangerous: How Best To Use Rare Potions Ingredients_ to high hell. She just needed the familiarity of the book and the library to set her mind at ease. She would get some Dreamless Sleep in the morning, but for now, it was just time to survive. 

After the first two hours of reading, it was evident that this method was not going to work. The number of days with terrors stacked impossibly high on top of months of restless or nonexistent sleep, and she could barely focus on the words in front of her. Fearing the inevitability of her dilemma, she decided work was the best way to keep her going.

And she knew exactly where she was going to go.

The kitchen was not quite as comforting as the library despite its newly roaring fireplace. Thankfully, Hermione did not come for comfort. Sitting across from the plain basement door, she stared and contemplated. As usual, she fell back to her best form of thinking: writing down known facts, examining what was missing, and drawing conclusions from said facts. Within the first five minutes, she had written down a handful of points to begin with;

  1. _This is a door which leads somewhere_
  2. _This door was recently revealed (as soon as 3 weeks or less after Hogwarts Battle)_
  3. _This door is not cursed or jinxed to purebloods (including blood-traitors)_
  4. _This door has no visible lock_
  5. _This door is forcibly kept closed via something unseen_
  6. _Whatever spell hid this door before now is likely linked to a dead person_
  7. _This dead person likely died or defected at the Hogwarts Battle_
  8. _This door does not have dark magic directly attached to it_



“So, option 1: I try and blast this door open.” Hermione announced aloud to the room. As Harry now slept in Sirius’ old room at the top of the house, he would certainly not hear any commotion. Looking around the room for a sign of fate, she wrote that down as an option.

“Option 2.. Maybe this door doesn’t actually lead to somewhere?” At this realization, Hermione wished she had someone nearby that could go and visually examine the door’s placement in the wall. _If Mundungus is just fucking with us I swear to God…_

“Option 3. Option 3. What’s the third option? If there’s a door there has to be a lock. Oh, right.”

_9\. Sirius can’t be the one who hid it, he died too long ago_

Hermione sat and stared at her list, examining the falsehoods possibly procured by her assumptions. Numbers 2, 3, 5, and 9 all seemed relatively absolute. 4 could be just a matter of undoing a different hiding charm to reveal a keyhole of some sort, so there was no sorting that out. 6 was also debatable, seeing as descendents of Black were still alive, as was 7. 8 was debatable, as the key to triggering the dark magic could be in opening the door itself.

It was as Hermione stared at her list of absolutes that she returned to the massive, glaring problem staring her in the face since her sixth year: Sirius Black never died. He just… fell. She had spent many nights following his “death” trying to figure out how the dias worked, whether it was a doorway or just some sort of vanishing arch, what might be the way to reverse the process. Not only for Harry’s sake, but for her own, too. A riddle she couldn’t figure out was infuriating, made even worse by the real world implications and the fact that she would likely never be able to get in again to examine the veil firsthand. The only thing she knew for sure was that Sirius Black didn’t simply _die._ It wasn’t possible.

She looked at the door, and back to her number 9 on the list. Quite a few times, actually. “There’s no fucking way.”

She looked at the door. “Absolutely no way.”

She looked at her list. “Stranger things have happened and I live in a fucking nightmare billed by God to my very own front door.”

She looked at the door one last time, conjured a piece of parchment, and went through multiple iterations of a letter. By the time she completed it in a satisfactory way, it was well past 3am. Regardless, she found Hedwig perched in the small backyard, softly apologized before giving her the letter and asking her to please not wake any of them. Sitting on one of the few run-down chairs in a badly manicured garden, she fell into what was an uninterrupted sleep for the first time in weeks.

\----

At 3:30am, Remus heard a pecking at his window. Having just fed Teddy for what felt like the hundredth time in the past day (a vast hyperbole, but a true feeling at heart nevertheless), he had decided to pick up a book as his sleeping schedule was destroyed to the stars and back anyway. This way, Tonks could sleep longer consecutively if she needed to when Teddy woke up again. 

Seeing that it was Hedwig, a pit started growing in his stomach. Had something gone wrong? Few people owled him in the first place, let alone Harry, at 3:30am, and Harry was still angry with him. Quietly yet frantically tearing open the letter, he began to read.

_Dear Remus,_

_I am sorry for sending you a letter so late - I hope that Hedwig has heeded my advice to try and not wake you._

_I was doing some work tonight trying to figure out the bothersome door in our basement when I hit into a bit of an odd wall of sorts.. You see, despite the fact it has been 2 full years now since Sirius passed through the veil, I have continually been at a loss at how it works. Something never sit right. It didn’t make sense. He was never hit by an_ Avada Kedavra _, nothing that would kill him. Just a push. He fell. He didn’t die. He disappeared._

 _I know this sounds odd to be hearing at 3am a month after a battle where people actually_ did _die, but please, hear me out._

 _Whoever hid this door is, more likely than not, inadvertently connected to Sirius’ fall as well. This same door that no one made a peep or comment of in the entire duration of the Order’s use of the house. That was missed relentlessly by Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, the entire Weasley clan, you, your wife, even Alastor Moody and his_ _magical eye_ _._

_What if, when this door was spit back into existence, so too was a very disoriented man in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries? Furthermore, are there other things that have popped up recently in other houses? Or is it just this house, and just this door? I cannot get over the What If’s. Magic has done crazier things._

_There’s something wrong with this. I want to figure out what. In the morning, I intend to contact the Malfoys. Should you find the time, I would like for you to please ask Andromeda as well. There’s something here hiding and I can feel it in not only my heart, but my magic and my soul. It’s not evil. It’s not angry. It just needs to be revealed._

_Send a letter back with Hedwig. God knows she needs the time away sometimes._ _  
_ _Best,_

_Hermione_

Remus read through her letter multiple times. She sounded determined, if not consumed by some sort of intense need to realize the full story. What she connected was… concerning, though not entirely out of left field. She was right - Magic _has_ done crazier things, though typically not in the manner of “bringing a friend back from the dead because a door happened to appear in his house” kind of crazy. 

Conjuring a time reflection, he noted it was 4:00. In 2 hours, Andromeda would wake. He could ask her then. 

_Two hours. Just have to wait. Two hours._

“Absolutely not.” he mumbled to himself, padding gently out of the room. There were two sides to the option of just waking Andromeda: on one hand, she could have no information and go back to bed thinking slightly less of him. On the other, she could have information that Remus could then send to Hermione, who he expected would continue to not sleep until she figured out what was going on. Regardless, win-win.

Knocking lightly on his mother in law’s door, he was surprised to hear her call him in.

“You’re awake? Andromeda, it’s… late?” He questioned, looking pointedly at the book on her lap.

She regarded him lightly with the look typical of a highborn woman. “I wake with little Teddy every time, just in case one of you needs help. I can’t help myself.”

Making a mental note to talk about later, Remus trudged on. “I would like to request your assistance for a brief moment, do you have the time? Just for a question. Not regarding Teddy, just.. Well, something has been found at Grimmuald.”

He hated how she made him stutter like he did in his first year, but did not let that deter him from meeting his goal. Just a quick question. This would take not even five minutes. He could do this. Even his terrifying, intelligent, intense mother-in-law couldn’t stop him from finding out the truth.

She took an exhale at length, frowning at him. “There are many things in the House of Black, Remus. I cannot pretend to know to what you are referring.”

Remus paused before beginning, gathering his thoughts. He could do this. “There is a door from the kitchen into what we assume was a basement. It was not there before the war, this has been confirmed by multiple Order members. There is presently a theory that it may have appeared upon the death or defection of a Black Family member. If this is the case there may be other implications connected to its appearance.”

Andromeda looked genuinely confused. “I have not been in that house for many years, but I guarantee there has always been a door in the kitchen.” She moved her lips as though searching for words, but nothing came out. “I assure you, there’s nothing to it. Though I can’t for the life of me tell you where it leads - the elves made use of it, mostly.” 

Remus sat with this knowledge for a moment before rising and thanking Andromeda for her time, “hopefully we can find out what the deal is with this silly little door in a few days. Thank you so much, truly.”

Taking Hermione’s note back in hand, he scrawled a quick note on the back;

_Hermione,_

_I asked and gained no information of any importance. It definitely goes somewhere, it definitely existed before Sirius left, but nothing makes sense of it. Hope you can glean more from the Malfoys. Best of luck._

_Remus._

\----

A half hour later, Hedwig dropped the response into the lap of the still soundly sleeping Hermione, who did not wake until the sun had fully crested the horizon.

  
  



	5. Mission... Plausible

The next morning, rejuvenated by her first good sleep, Hermione sent off two additional letters. One, an exceedingly formal letter to Narcissa Malfoy (c/o Draco, seeing as she had never been formally introduced to the woman beyond being tortured on her drawing room floor), and the other, a less formal letter to Kingsley Shaklebolt requesting an inquiry into her experience in the Department of Mysteries.

The Malfoy letter was returned quickly, with a short reply giving the same information as Andromeda had. Hermione was somewhat surprised having gotten a letter back in the first place, but she figured it had something to do with their family’s potential liberation that they had been so willing to reply. She sent a final letter back, thanking them for their cooperation. It felt like an olive branch in a way, though she shook the thought from her head before there was time to see it fully form - even if they weren’t war criminals on purpose, they were still complicit.

The letter to Kingsley went unreturned. 

She knew that the man, having willingly stepped in as acting Minister until an election could happen, was insanely busy. She understood. But the least he could do was send her a quick letter back saying whether or not it was possible. After all - almost no one knew she and her friends had even been  _ in _ the full DoM, let alone what had happened down there. After 5 days with no reply, she elected to take matters into her own hands.

She and Harry hadn’t been talking much. Their time was preoccupied by work of physical tasks to turn over Grimmuald into a permanently liveable space after decades of neglect. When she had finally sat down to talk to Him about what she was trying to do and what connections she had made, it was an oddly stilted conversation. He didn’t understand why this meant so much to her, and she didn’t understand why he didn’t care more. Regardless, he still vowed to go with her to the Ministry to formally begin the investigation into their experience. 

“All I’m saying is that the DoM must legally have a statute of limitations on experiences within their premises, really, it’s just logic!” Hermione repeated multiple times before they left. Harry practically rolled his eyes out of his head. He knew when she fixated on things they had to be reconciled. It was just unfortunate that his dead godfather was one of those things.

The plan was shaky in theory and even worse in practical application. Due to the nature of the Department, all they could do was go to the visitor’s centre and lodge a formal complaint about the mishandling of the situation by Department employees - though it wasn’t the best option, it was nonetheless the only one. Dealing with bureaucracy was one of Hermione’s pet peeves, but for once, she was following the rules of the game so that she could make sure the effort wasn’t wasted.

Or, at least, trying to.

Upon their entrance to the Ministry, they were immediately intercepted by Percy Weasley and ordered to follow him. Both Harry and Hermione shared a look; both knew the other did not mention their intended appearance to anyone. As a rule, it was not said verbally beyond the first time they discussed it, and was never written down without being fully destroyed. It wasn’t that what they were trying to do was  _ illegal _ , just incredibly frowned upon. It wasn’t every day that two young war heroes attempted to indict the Department of Mysteries for no discernible reason.

Percy seemed to guide them through an impossible maze, most parts looking nothing like the same Ministry that they had infiltrated only months prior. From the people to the furnishings, it held a stronger feeling of office space and mundanity than the bleak environment they had familiarized themselves with. It was when they finally came to the office detailing “Minister of Magic” that they realized what had actually happened.

“I guess he got my letter.” Hermione whispered to Harry sarcastically, causing him to stifle a bark of laughter. The two still had no handle on their outbursts - Hermione saw their effect as multiple heads in the vicinity whipped to see what had caused the loud noise, and in a sudden bout of stress elbowed Harry with a look of fear. Although she knew they were allowed, and supposed, to be there, she couldn’t shake the visceral need to be unnoticeable. He seemed to take the hint immediately and sobered.

As one of the perturbed parties, Percy whirled around, lips drawn together to a white line. “Do not do anything to cause a problem for the Order again.  _ Please _ . We are trying our hardest to get you two the justice you deserve but it’s -” 

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the opening of the door, from which a cacophonous shouting match played. Percy straightened to full height, plastered a passive look on his face, and turned to announce Harry and Hermione’s presence as an ancient and grizzled man wearing Wizengamot robes rushed out of the office, red-faced and embarrassed. 

From within, the two were summoned and told to take a seat. Kingsley’s office still had remnants of its old inhabitants - from pictures of Thicknesse’s family to articles on the walls discussing Scrimgeour’s firing, it was obvious that habituating himself in the environment hadn’t yet crossed Kinglsey’s mind. Hermione instantly felt a slight bit of regret, before remembering what exactly she had come here for. She had a job, and that job was to find information regarding Sirius’ possible release.

“Hermione, Harry, I very genuinely don’t have the time to beat around the bush and exchange pleasantries. Please explain to us exactly why you intend to make a complaint against the Department of Mysteries. Weasley here will record your complaint, and it will be sent to the department head for examination.” Kingsley recited as though reading from a textbook. Although still holding his authoritative stature, he seemed objectively exhausted. The worry lines deepened by the war cast fine shadows across his face, the circles under his eyes had definitely gotten worse in the past month, and Hermione could pick up a slight tremble in his dominant hand from either overuse or lack of nutrition. It seemed she was not the only one so far unable to live a life after the war. 

Hermione considered the condition of the man in front of her for a moment before she spoke for her party. 

“Minister, it has come to my attention that myself and my classmates were put under.. Undue duress,” she glanced at Harry, who was presently staring a hole in the ground, “due to the incompetence of the Department in keeping not just a single room but the entirety of the Department area safe from intruders - this definition extending not only to our own underage selves, but also to the Death Eaters that were capable of infiltrating the Ministry in the exact same way.” 

She paused, weighing what more to add to the official report.  _ In for a penny.. _

“We also believe Harry James Potter should be subject to compensation due to the disappearance and subsequent recent  _ re _ appearance of his godfather, Sirius Orion Black, which has not been thus far formally declared to said next of kin. Regardless of Harry’s position in ending the most recent Wizarding War, it is unjust to keep any one family member wrongfully incarcerated and removed from the rest of their family, whether they are related by blood or by law.”

Kingsley stared at her, analyzing, while the weight of her words sunk into the atmosphere of the room. From the corner of her eye, she could see Percy hiding his face in the scroll of parchment. She hoped that was a good thing.

“Do you have any proof of your claim, Miss Granger?” Kingsley asked in a bored voice.

_ This man is occluding in front of my own damn eyes as though Severus Snape wasn’t my professor for six years. Wonderful. _

“From the houses of Malfoy and Black, yes. I do.” Hermione stared him in the eye, refusing to break his gaze.  _ You don’t have to show me your mind for me to know you’re hiding something _ , she thought pointedly, hoping he would somehow hear it. It didn’t matter if she was lying, her resolve was absolutely enough.

Kingsley finally turned his gaze to Percy, nodding. “Then we are finished here. Weasley, send your form to the Department. We’ll see if they even respond.” Kingsley sighed before turning back to the pair, “You two must understand that we are beyond overwhelmed in our efforts to rebuild. Things are complicated right now, and we’re doing our best. We’ll see to it that this inquest is addressed, but there are no guarantees. The Department gets infuriatingly secretive with the wrong questions.”

Hermione nodded curtly. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, and she suspected it wasn't something Harry was happy with either, but at least Kinsley was finally giving his own opinions, even if only in passing.

Out of nowhere, Harry blurted his own contribution to the conversation for the first time since entering the Ministry. “We would like three separate copies of the form. Signed. With everyone that’s here’s names on it. Please.” He continued to stare a hole in the floor. 

“Three?” Percy questioned.  
  
“One for each of us, and one for the Black Family Council.”

If hearts could explode from being too proud, Hermione’s would at that very moment. Watching the brief slip of face from Kingsley to momentary shock could fill her mental trainwreck of a state with happiness for weeks - even more, watching both him and Percy become distinctly inanimate as they signed and stamped a confirmation of their presences at the meeting alongside Hermionie and Harry’s. She was thankful that Harry also noticed how they were omitting something, very obviously related to the status and wellbeing of Sirius Black. Their escort from the ministry felt like a victory procession, and as they fell through the floo back to Grimmuald Place, they both felt something internally change. 

They had a purpose again.

Harry gave her a hard look. “We should hide these. Give them to people who could keep them safer than they are here. And I mean right now - no chances, don’t tell even each other who has them.”

“You surprise me more every day, Harry. I know exactly my place. Do you?”

Harry nodded. “You take the third copy as well. I didn’t really want it, but I figured three was better than two. Something’s bound to screw up eventually..” 

“Meet back here in an hour for lunch?”

  
  
“Absolutely.”

\----

Alone in his office, Kingsley allowed himself a moment without composure. He laid his head on the cool wood surface of the desk of his predecessor and forced himself to take deep, long breaths. It had been 4 straight weeks of interrogating every single member of the ministry, defining who was active or just plain complicit in the ministry’s war crimes. They weren’t even halfway done yet - entire departments were falling apart at the seams as it was evident that the wizarding world’s prejudice ran deep. It was impossible to remove everyone. He needed a break. Going straight from fighting Voldemort’s last battle into work was not the healthiest option, but he knew if he didn’t do it, someone less favourable would. 

Truth be told, the Department of Mysteries wasn’t even in contact with the greater Ministry bureau. But the general public didn’t know that. They couldn’t. Finding out there was even less internal control than originally thought would be beyond a scandal. On the bright side, if he could even call it that, he knew exactly who worked in the DoM. There was a list permanently charmed to his office wall with seven names that were obscured to all but the active Minister at the time. He would need to start there. Just.. not yet.

Taking a final deep breath in, he lifted his head from the table, and resumed the paperwork he had been trying to find his way through before that old Wizengamot wretch decided to trifle with him. It was going to be a long week.


	6. An inconsequential day

June 14th fell on a Sunday - the first Sunday after the war for the reemergence of the Weasley Monthly Family Dinner. 

Arriving about midday, Harry and Hermione were engulfed in an array of hugs from various redheaded family members. Choruses of “we haven’t seen you in so long!” and “Did you get my letter? You never responded!” hounded them for what felt like centuries but were, in reality, only sounded for a good ten minutes before everyone fell back to their conversations. Even Ron had looked happy to see them, having seemingly forgiven their perceived offenses against his family.

Harry and Hermione split from each other not too much later, Harry moving to a quiet corner to talk with Ginny, and Hermione to the kitchen to help Molly out. She was never quite sure how the matriarch was able to supply so much for so many, but it was quickly made evident how much Magic played into the deal.

From her Magical Theory classes, she knew that food couldn’t be created, just transfigured. As it turns out, multiplying was a property of transfiguration, which circumvented Gamp’s Law and allowed really anything to be possible from even the smallest amount of food.

“The trick is to just make sure you have a single bit, even if it’s just a crumb, of the original meal!” Molly told her, happy to finally have someone to share her knowledge with that would listen.  _ If only I knew that when we were running.. _

Sometimes magic frustrated her.

\----

Closer to suppertime, the Lupin unit appeared with Andromeda, followed closely by Bill and Fleur. Passing the threshold of what the already cramped dining room could fit, the numerous adults were all pressured by Molly to help set up tables, chairs, and placements. Had Hagrid shown up, it would have practically been the exact same group as the year before at Harry’s birthday party.

As everyone tucked into their meals, this was the only thought that carried through Hermione’s mind. They were all so lucky. So very, very lucky. Having been at the centre of the war, the leaders of the revolution, how was it that every single one of them came out alive? What cruel twist of fate instead took all of the innocents? She closed her eyes as tears threatened to burn their way forward. As if a tiny china teacup was dropped, she felt the impact of something small, delicate, and sharp, spread a slow wave of hurt through her. It wasn’t physical pain but something much deeper, more internal. 

By midway through supper, the feeling had consumed her. Looking around to the overzealous laughter of the twins, to the animate conversation Fleur was having with Molly, to little Teddy getting doted on by both of his loving parents, she just felt  _ wrong _ . Each and every person dealt with their fair share of injuries, this much was obvious; from Remus and Bill with their torn faces, to George whose ear never grew back, Charlie who now sported a permanent burn scar across the entirety of his left arm, Ginny who she knew never fully felt the same after her first-year stint as Voldemort’s vessel.. No one came out whole, but all but a few came out alive.

Not Mad-eye. Not Dumbledore. Not Collin, or Lavender. Or Sirius.

And what about those that she had cut down herself? Though she was loathe to admit it, she was merciless with her spellwork and held little to nothing back. She was likely personally responsible for the deaths of what? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty death eaters? And not even with quick spells like  _ Avada Kedavra _ , no, she took habitually to the violent spells like  _ Confringo _ ,  _ Reducto _ ,  _ Sectumsempra _ , severing and bludgeoning hexes.. How was she any different from the so-called “evil” wizards she had fought?

If anyone noticed her sudden change of demeanour, they didn’t comment. They also didn’t comment when she quietly left the table. When Ginny followed her inside to check on her, she made no comment when she found Hermione howling on the bathroom floor in tears. Ginny never asked why or how, only sat there and held her while she let go of every single emotion she had refused to feel for the last month, and then every emotion she no longer had the ability to feel from the last year. 

Molly vigilantly intervened whenever someone tried to go inside, especially when she realized the two hadn’t left the house for quite some time. Arguing that it was too nice out to be inside these days, she catered on the rest of the party hand and foot, darting inside occasionally only to hear the soft crying of Hermione and the mumbled reassurances from Ginny. It was only when she came inside to silence that she finally permitted the family back inside.

\----

Outside, the dinner had turned more into a free-for-all of entertainment and extravagant living. Most could piece together why they were being confined to the outdoors, and those that didn’t were gracefully herded back before they could figure it out. Percy had become increasingly loud and flamboyant after ingesting far too many drinks, Arthur had repeatedly tried to get Harry’s attention to show him muggle card tricks, and Remus and Tonks had taken to discussing with Fred and George the nature and business of their shop. Andromeda had taken Teddy home, claiming he had gotten tired quite quickly following the end of the meal, but it was obvious she was uncomfortable with the loud behaviour. It didn’t help when Ron and Charlie had taken to singing drinking songs, committed to getting as sloshed as humanly possible. 

The partying antics continued until Ginny returned without Hermione, at which point many realized that she was likely not returning to the group. Bill and Remus shared a short, unsure look, before the former stood and hollered to gather everyones’ attention. 

“Well.. we don’t really know how else to announce this other-” 

Fleur cut him off. “I’m pregnant!”

A roar of congratulations from the full clan came from the table, with surprised faces in all corners.

“Does this mean you fought while pregnant?” Molly asked, aghast. 

Fleur blushed slightly and nodded before quickly adding, “We didn’t know at the time, it was only a few weeks ago that I even started showing signs.”

Molly looked about to faint.

When the drunken and congratulatory ruckus of the table cooled, Remus, too stood for attention, though with a much more somber look on his face. Fleur and Bill seemed unsurprised, and to those sober enough for observation, it seemed to be a planned punch.

Looking cartoonishly between the two men, Ron nearly choked on his drink, “Right, what’s all this then? ANOTHER baby? Great Merlin, Tonks, I didn’t think you’d have it in you!?” 

Tonks immediately looked displeased, hair turning a deep black. “Would you give him a moment to speak? No. I’m not pregnant. Bugger off if you’re gonna be childish.” 

Ron mumbled an apology behind his most recent mug of beer and tried to hide the blush crawling up his neck. Molly glared at her youngest for his rude comment, causing him to shrink further back into himself. Remus just shook his head, the young man just could not catch a break from his own outbursts recently.

“A few of us from the Order have gathered a bit of news. As we all know, a number of people are still missing from the past year.” the group were all completely silenced by this opening remark. Sensing that all ears were on him, he continued. “Most recently, Severus Snape has finally appeared. Alive.”

The tension at the table could be cut with a knife. 

Tonks joined in on her husband’s behalf. “We know that he is a right bastard and likely deserves life in Azkaban, but we had to get to him before the Aurors did to make sure he had a fair trial. He is being held in a safehouse by the Order until further notice, with a Fidelius charm that none at this table are privy to. Even if we wanted to do a siege and smite him ourselves, we couldn’t.” She looked as displeased at the statement as most of the table was.

Remus himself looked sour. “We’re just the messengers. Honestly, I’d love to be able to share more information, but for right now there is none.” He was almost glad that Hermione hadn’t been present for this announcement - he knew as much as anyone how infuriating it was to crave knowledge where there wasn’t any.

When everyone dissipated into much quieter conversations, he glanced at the backdoor of the Burrow to see whether or not she was present for either announcement. As if on cue, Hermione reappeared out of the Burrow looking as though she hadn’t just spent the past hour depositing what was left of her heart on the bathroom floor. She dutifully ignored any strange glances, and reclaimed her seat beside Harry, ignoring even his questioning look in favour of completing her meal. Having pushed away Arthur for the fifth time, Harry persisted.

“Do you need to leave? We can slip out whenever. I’m sure no one will mind.” He whispered to her delicately. She shook her head and continued to eat, this time listening into various conversations instead of staying inside her own thoughts.

When the sun began to go down, it was a sign for the party to start packing up. This was could have been completed magically within minutes were it not for the tomfoolery of the Weasley boys. The welcome distraction allowed for those that needed to leave to have the time to say their goodbyes to everyone individually. Hermione tasked herself with doing everything by hand - though by magic was much easier, she found that people disturbed her less when she was doing something and looked determined and didn’t particularly fancy having any discussions. 

She smiled somewhat as she continued to find Harry in odd corners with Ginny, breaking her rule of a stony faced facade. Hermione loved seeing them happy together, though was slightly jealous as to how easy it had come to them both. She knew her and Ron would never have lasted, having exactly opposite personalities, but she couldn’t help but wonder what could have been had either of them been tolerable in the least. Her wistful train of thought was abruptly interrupted when she accidentally walked directly into Tonks while holding a large (and thankfully empty) platter of what once was mashed potatoes, sending it clattering to the ground. 

“Shit! Sorry Tonks, I should’ve been watching where I was going..” 

Laughing, Tonks levitated the serving plate just as Hermione began to reach for it. “All good, Granger. I was trying to get in your sight anyway!” 

Hermione went to grab the platter out of the air, but it was elevated just out of her reach. Frustrated, she put her hands on her hips and raised a silent eyebrow at the other woman. 

“Hey now, I didn’t mean to piss you off. Just stop you for a moment.” Tonks lowered the serving plate to Hermione’s hands, allowing her to grab it. “Remus wanted me to give you this. It’s from Minevra, I’m guessing you and Harry have an open invitation to get back to school.”

Hermione frowned. “Why am I getting school mail through Remus?”

Looking around at who was closest nearby, Tonks sidled closer to her and whispered discreetly, “He’s accepted a job again back at Hogwarts, but don’t tell him I told you. Old Minnie had been trying to bully him into it since he last taught and he’s only now given in.” Winking at Hermione, she pulled out two thick envelopes sealed with the Hogwarts crest and slipped them into her grip under the platter and sauntered off.

_ Well, that was an experience. _

\----

While Tonks was stealing away Hermione’s time, Remus was doing the same to Harry. After catching him in a heated debate with Ginny, Remus pulled him away to a quieter corner of the courtyard, mindful of the onset of early evening and his little wife.

“Look, I owe you an explanation.” Remus started before Harry had the chance to complain. 

“Yes. And?”

He sighed. Looking at Harry, he no longer saw James. This person had seen and done so much more - it was impossible to look into his eyes, Lily’s eyes, and see anything beyond a tortured and tired existence. 

“When I said that it was complicated, I meant it, but I’ll try and make this as brief as possible. You yourself weren’t chosen. You were the Order’s only option to win. But for Dumbledore..” he looked off to the bustle still at the Burrow, pained that he had to be the one to tell Harry this. “Dumbledore made additional plans. We didn’t agree with it - those of us that knew fought against him for it, but he decided at the end of your first year that Hermione was to be a sort of plan B. Should something happen to you..” 

“I didn’t realize I was so replaceable.” Harry responded cooly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. He knew you needed support, and when he saw the massive amount of untapped potential Hermione had, he was like a kid at christmas. Between her infinite thirst for knowledge, gross competence in spellwork, and easily manipulated background, she turned into not only the safest bet but the most reliable one.” Harry made to cut him off but Remus continued to talk over him, “None of us wanted this for her, but when Dumbledore decrees something, you listen, especially when he had the power to just as quickly ensure our own lives were living hells. The rest of us were disposable for the Greater Good, Harry, we couldn’t just stand up and deny him  _ anything _ .”

Harry remained silent this time, refusing to look him in the eye. He was visibly shaking with anger and a cold, deep hatred. Not at Remus, but at Dumbledore. Without another word, he walked away toward Hermione who had just herself finished a short talk with Tonks, intent on returning her to Grimmuald. Any of the adults in their lives could be as sorry as they damn well pleased, it changed nothing that they allowed to happen in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smashmouth was right... the years really do start comin and they dont stop comin
> 
> yes i nearly named this chapter that no i will not be taking suggestions
> 
> this is all I have so far from the last day of writing lmk if y'all are interested in more or not i mean i'm definitely not gonna stop writing BUT it just matters whether or not i post it here
> 
> beyond this point will be probably much slower in terms of events and new occurrences because once you get back to living a Regular Life you stop noticing all the tiny little things in the world


	7. Mundanity in existence

In the time between June 14th and the start of the school term, a few things became certain. For starters, the Department of Mysteries had little intent of pursuing their inquiry; other than periodical owls declaring the matter “still pending”, there had been no communication. Another, that Hermione for the life of her just couldn’t get into conversations with the younger Weasley boys and those that survived from Dumbledore’s Army. And finally, that the god damn door into the basement would not open despite  _ everything _ thrown at it.

After little conversation, Harry and Hermione both agreed it would be for the best if they both returned to school. While they were nowhere near done the rehabilitation required of Grimmuald, they knew it was a project always waiting for them to fall back on. Harry could spend more time with Ginny while catching up on being a kid, and Hermione could fall back into the welcoming rhythm of study. And besides, neither wanted to get a job yet - it felt wrong to jump into the next big thing and throw caution to the wind.

Ron had elected to instead join Fred and George at the joke shop, informing the two by owl soon after he got his own letter. This was unsurprising to many, as he had moved much more toward being family oriented than he had been even a year previous - it was obvious that he too had been changed by what he had experienced. Instead of looking down on his humble beginnings, he had instead chosen to embrace it and love his clan unequivocally, making Molly an absolutely ecstatic woman. Furthermore, he seemed happy and willing to settle into a more casual life; as he told them at the next Family Dinner, he was as sick of being in the middle of things as they were and wanted a quieter life. At this development, Hermione was very proud. 

Neville, Luna, and Dean had all decided to return alongside Ginny who had chosen to hop directly into her 7th year. None had heard back yet, but they assumed the Patil twins would as well, and likely Seamus. The six confirmed returnees convened in mid-July at Grimmuald’s library to discuss choices on what they were most interested in taking so as to ensure no one would be left in a class without a familiar face. While Dean had elected to only do a part-time year (a choice offered to all returning students, taken up by most), the other five decided to pursue a full-time academic year, eager for return to the chaotic normalcy of overbearing class schedules.

Hidden within McGonagall’s letters to the small group they saw an opportunity: if enough of them wanted a class, they could just get their closest friends that were also returning to give it enough popularity. It was because of this that their choices were made inexplicably easy. All of them took DADA to the urge of Hermione who had kept Tonks’ secret, though quite poorly. They also all elected to take Music, a course that hadn’t been offered since their parents' time, though they were all very interested in it. Hermione, Neville, and Luna all decided to push for Alchemy to return (combining transfiguration, muggle chemistry, and potions, allowing 2 NEWTS for the time commitment of one), while Harry, Ginny, and Dean stuck to the regular Potions and Transfigurations courses. Luna, Harry, and Hermione also decided to pursue Ancient Studies, the NEWT level History of Magic course. Upon realizing that Ancient Runes was a corequisite, Harry immediately threatened to drop it, until Hermione reminded him that he could have the coreq waived by McGonagall. This was confirmed by a quick floo call to Hogwarts, during which they were all reprimanded for using what was intended to be an emergency connection only.

Privately, Ginny and Hermione both decided to take Advanced Spell Theory together, knowing the rest would be uninterested. 

It took nearly a full afternoon for the six to come to their final decisions and owl their selection sheets back. Ranging from Dean’s 4 courses to Hermione’s 10, they all varied in their time dedication, but all seemed quite satisfied with their decisions. It was odd to be making such mundane choices, ones that would likely never matter in the long run, but it felt strangely good. As though this was where they were meant to be for once.

Despite the welcoming feeling, Hermione still felt separated from her friends by some sort of wall. She couldn’t quite relate or understand how the other five were communicating so unabashedly. It felt like she was sitting, watching some sort of stage play in a different language, but one where she knew vaguely what was going on and the motivations behind the characters. Maybe this was just what growing up felt like - everyone changing at different rates, with no rhyme or reason.  _ Or maybe you don’t belong any more _ , the nagging doubt inside her head cooed. 

The teacup that had broken in her still hadn’t healed, and she could feel it’s perpetual presence everywhere.

When Harry suggested they all have a go at their mystery door, it was a relief. Finally, she could put her mind to work and stop caring about socialization. She explained the situation, as well as her list of probable information (except for the 9th assumption regarding Sirius) accompanied by a retelling of the Odd Tale Of Ron. 

Considering the door for a moment, Luna conjured a piece of parchment, folded it in a flat rectangle, and pushed it under the door, allowing it to disappear completely. “Well, that solves your first fact: it does, in fact, go somewhere.” 

Dean looked at her revised list laid out on the nearby table. “Honestly, that may also confirm your eighth point. By pushing the paper through, she should’ve been able to set off any dark magic trap that would have occurred by it crossing the threshold.” 

“I’m curious about number four.. Are you sure the lock isn’t visible?” Neville asked, looking at the full exterior of the door for something poking out. 

“No idea, really.” said Harry.

Ginny seemed slightly confused. Trailing her hand down the list, she paused at 6 and 7, regarding the spellcaster. “Could we not just ask Kreacher?”

Harry and Hermione both shared a look. They could, theoretically, ask the house elf. But would he tell the truth? Would he even be willing to come back to the house? He had been working in the Hogwarts kitchens for over a year now. There was no telling what sort of bias he would provide.   
  
“We figured it best to not involve him for the time being.” Hermione finally stated, “he’s an eccentric little elf.” 

“Understatement of the century,” whispered Harry under his breath. 

After much deliberation, the crew of six decided to try and just vanish the door. When that didn’t work, they attempted a  _ diffindo _ , followed by incrementally more explosive and contained hexes. Still, nothing made a single dent on the door. Upon further inspection, this was the case for all the doors in the Black family home - a product of who knows what incident of the past. Luna eventually suggested blood magic as a culprit, though with no way to test the theory they decided to end the evening early and turn in for the day.

Hermione spent the night restless, irritated at herself for not being able to engage properly with her friends and at the door for refusing to just  _ open _ . Every single thing seemed to frustrate her a bit more - from there being only a small amount of toothpaste in the tube, to her room feeling too hot, to the light of the nearly full moon that filtered into the room and was just barely enough to make the room too bright. 

_ At least it isn’t god damn night terrors anymore _ . 

As though the universe itself could sense a need for dramatic irony, she had run out of dreamless sleep potion the night previous, and forgotten to owl in a new order. 

\----

Just like the Ministry indictment, there had been little news regarding Snape’s alleged reappearance. Harry had decided to not tell Hermione the story, especially seeing as no one had, or admitted to having, any more news than Remus had given them. Though he knew this wasn’t the truth, he didn’t have much of the energy to care anymore. Since Voldemort’s downfall, he had begun to realize that those who acted like they knew what they were doing before were just about as lost and confused as he was - even more so without Dumbledore’s presence to guide them. 

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Harry had always thought that his mentor was a fundamentally good man, and that he would never force people to do what they didn’t want to. Yes, it was awful when someone died, but Dumbledore wouldn’t push them into anything that would purposefully endanger them, would he?

_ Would he? _

He remembered the story of Arianna Dumbledore, caught in the crossfire between Albus and Grindelwald, which then pulled to mind Remus’ casting out after he left his DADA position, how Snape was allowed to do as he pleased because of his status, Sirius being locked in Grimmuald despite the knowledge shared by many that he was innocent… 

Sirius, who was denied veritaserum at his trial by the same Wizengamot that Dumbledore was the supreme Mugwump of. 

Sirius, who was then jailed for years for murders Dumbledore knew he had not committed.

Sirius, who refused to just accept things as they were, and was known to be vocally against some of Dumbledore’s opinions.

It all came around to Sirius. Walking aimlessly through the halls of Grimmuald, Harry took in the walls of the second prison that Dumbledore had placed his godfather in. He remembered the hushed conversations he would come across in little nooks between Order members and, typically, Sirius, all stifled as soon as they saw him coming. How foul and angry Sirius had grown to be in light of his situation, and how equally terrified he looked upon finding Dumbledore’s Army in the bowels of the ministry. He didn’t deserve to die. He deserved to have a life - they both did, together and happy, but Dumbledore had decided otherwise.

Dumbledore had told him at the end of his first year, “It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” It seemed quite clear now that he was not only referring to Voldemort, but himself as well.

Harry knew he should’ve known better. He should’ve been able to identify the signs of mistreatment, not only regarding himself but also including the people around him. Hindsight was indeed 20/20, but he wished he had consolidated all of these facts earlier. Maybe he could’ve saved more people, or made the members of the Order feel as though their lives were more valuable than Dumbledore had shown. Though still angry with Remus, he knew in his heart that he did what he could in the time that he had, having never shown anything but equal encouragement to all members of the trio. Remus wasn’t the one actively trying to weaponize his best friend through her childhood - Dumbledore was.

It now made sense why most members of the Order committed much less after the death of Dumbledore: they were no longer driven by fear of repercussion, but by needs of survival.

And Hermione, her fierce and caring best friend and the only one to be with him every step of the way, was one of the ones who was a casualty to this pattern. He had begun to notice it in every action she took since they started renovation on the house; everything had to work out, with a reason, and if it didn’t she would force it to. If even the smallest thing was out of place, like the time her colour changing charm didn’t turn one of the bathroom walls the right colour, she would be frustrated and consumed until it cooperated. Her obsessive drive over the smallest things wasn’t natural, nor was it healthy. On top of it all, she kept such a close handle on her emotions that he couldn’t even figure out how she was doing - frequently she came across as disinterested and aloof. He didn’t know how to help her.

Ginny had suggested just talking to her about it, getting her to understand things didn’t have to be perfect, that she could live a different life now, but Harry refused. It wasn’t the time to. None of them wanted to talk about things yet. Or maybe ever. It was hard to tell. Luna had become increasingly open about talking about her capture by the Death Eaters, and Neville and Ginny were slowly opening up about how life at Hogwarts had changed under Voldemort’s influence, but they all still only mentioned things in passing. Hermione, in contrast, had said nothing.

He suspected it would be like this for a very long time.

\----

The group of six convened midway through August again for a Diagon Alley outing. Most of them had to completely re-purchase their most basic of supplies beyond the usual need of new books; scales, telescopes, phials, and new cauldrons - multiple for those taking Alchemy. Across all of them, they covered 14 of the 17 courses offered at the school for the students that had decided to return and it was evident in how long their cumulative shopping lists were. 

They spent a great deal of time in the Apothecary - the three that had chosen Alchemy had been requested a large assortment of potions supplies in lieu of any textbook, as the class was far more practical than theoretical. This was the case for transfiguration, charms, and DADA as well. Dean was very happy with this, as it meant he only had to purchase a single textbook for potions. 

“Thank God for small mercies!” he had cried upon seeing his short supply list.

Ginny snorted. “Dean, you are literally a war hero. They  _ paid _ us. And not even a small amount.” 

“Textbooks are expensive, Ginevra. Hermione knows, she needs to buy a small library!” Dean said defensively, nudging Hermione playfully. She only grimaced in response.

Hermione had cringed heavily when she saw the required books for the music course.  _ Sight Reading Exercises Volume One _ by Kenneth Bray was the handbook that haunted her early childhood in the Muggle conservatory, having been put through the first handful of grades by her parents before her magical ability was revealed.  _ Norton Anthology of Music _ was another recognized title, though in a much more positive light - she had always loved history, and music history was no exception. 

Despite her love for books and reading, she wasn’t particularly pleased to have to purchase 9 books in total. The pile she brought to the front of Flourish and Blotts was over a foot high, and that didn’t even include the more exceptional books she had to source from Obscurus and Whizz Hard for her Advanced Theory, Ancient Studies and Advanced Arithmancy courses. As it had turned out, the texts required for these courses were almost never reprinted, and all those taking the courses could get were very used, very old copies from decades prior. Purely by accident, she had also come across a particularly ancient-looking book from the early 1800’s,  _ The Circle of Time _ , discussing the nature of the magical passage and experience of time, which she compulsively bought to add to the collection of old books she carried with her. It would be the first she had bought herself, as most were reappropriated from the different libraries and book collections she had come across in her time in the magical world.

The group didn’t spend much time dallying in Diagon as they were still hesitant to be seen in public for too long. Each of them cast varying charms of their own to either disguise or hide themselves by habit, none making an effort to explain what they were doing or why. The Alley in and of itself also refrained from showing its original personality and remained uncharacteristically quiet - the Wizarding population, although happy to have this time confirmed the death of Voldemort, evidently still needed time to heal before it returned to its rambunctious nature. Anyone on the street either moved in large, quiet groups, or walked alone quickly, all determined to finish their shopping as fast as possible and get home to relative safety.

The second wizarding war had scarred Wizarding Britain much more intensely than the first.

Before leaving, Luna had suggested stopping into Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes for a quick hello and a look around. When they got there, however, the store was packed compared to the other shops in their visit, and they decided instead to come back some other time. No one needed a fix of hijinks enough to justify pushing their way through the loud shelves with no ability to avoid other people. 

\----

Hermione spent the remainder of her two weeks holed up in her room pre-reading her textbooks. Ever since they realized the basement door was very likely not going to open, she had lost interest in Grimmuald’s renovations - she knew Harry was unhappy with her for leaving what was supposed to be their project, but she also knew he wouldn’t hold it against her. They still had Christmas break to come back and get things finished before the new year. 

August 31st, she packed every single thing she owned back into her beaded purse and broke her seclusion to make sure Harry did the same. Even though she knew she would be coming back sooner rather than later, it felt wrong to leave any evidence of her existence. Harry, not reflecting this sentiment, left his room and any others he inhabited an absolute mess, spurring discord between the two. 

“I don’t understand why you think leaving a mess behind is a good thing!” Hermione cried for the nth time that day. She looked in disgust at the old parchments, clothes he didn’t intend to pack, and random gifts he had received from admirers as thanks covering what looked like every surface in the room. Thanking God that he at least didn’t leave old food and used dishes laying about, she moved to begin tidying only to immediately be stopped by Harry.

“I don’t judge you for doing what you want in your living space, so you have no right to judge me for mine!” he huffed, exasperated at her mothering. “This is our  _ home _ , now, Hermione! We live here! For as long as we want!”

She turned on him, suddenly horrified, “Do you let your dorms at Hogwarts get like this?! Always saying Hogwarts is your first home.. Those poor elves! Or when Ginny comes stays the night? Is she just okay with this?” She was ready to throttle him.

Harry rolled his eyes and gave a cheeky grin. “I’m not Ron, I do  _ somewhat _ respect the place I live in, especially when it’s cleaned by someone that isn’t me. And I always tidy a bit before she comes over, you  _ know  _ that.” 

He loved being pestered by her because he knew it showed how much she still cared. If there was any small mercy of fate, it was that their friendship hadn’t dissolved with the end of the war.   
  
Pursing her lips, Hermione took one last aggravated look at his hoard and swiftly left the room. She didn’t have the energy to deal with this today. The concept of returning to Hogwarts was enveloping her entire existence, filling her to the brim with nervous energy. She didn’t know what new professors were hired to teach which classes, what eighth years had decided to return, how many students were affected and to what extent by not only the battle but the months previous.. Would there be a large influx of students, forcing her to deal with not only new faces but also a much more full Hogwarts in the first place? Or would there be even less people than her sixth year, with parents completely losing trust in the moral standing of the school, making her easier to recognize in the crowd? Would there be more ghosts than there had been previously from those that had died on the grounds? The innumerable questions spun themselves into a knot in her brain, baring her from being able to read for relaxation. 

She took to pacing in the library, up and down the many rows of bookcases, until the earliest hours of the morning when she finally crashed on the couch across from the now-low burning fireplace. It was here that Harry found her, curled in a tight ball around her purse at 7am, entirely unprepared for the year ahead of her.


	8. The Journey and a Feast

After the intense panic of morning had left them, Harry and Hermione had apparated to King’s Cross, intent on meeting their friends early and forgetting their fears for the day. Despite having been given the offer by McGonagall to show up of their own time and accord to the Hogwarts grounds, the two had decided it felt wrong not returning the proper way - especially given their unceremonious return only months previous. If they were lucky, they could pretend like the past year had been one awful dream. 

As though sensing their trepidation, the weather was quite dark and overcast despite it being 10am, and a cold wind indicating oncoming September rain closing in on the area cut through their robes. Feeling it would be the best to find a compartment sooner rather than later, Hermione led the way to the very front coach of the train and claimed their spot. Most of the younger students typically avoided this area, learning the hard way that without proper silencing spells the train’s engine would make an awful racket and make the journey distinctly displeasurable. The crowd embarking early onto the train was only made up of older students who followed their lead, and though some had a family member or two to say goodbye to, many did not stick about, leaving the platform oddly empty.

Ginny joined them within minutes, having come from the Burrow and spent the better part of the morning battling against her mother’s overbearing babying. Frustrated, visibly exhausted, and at wits end, she sat down in one of the deeper corners of the compartments, covered her head with her outer robe, and propped herself against the window without a word. 

Harry shared a worried look with Hermione. “Good morning to you too?” he asked, sitting gently next to Ginny. 

She huffed. Tearing her robe from her face, it was obvious that she had very recently been crying. “She was begging and pleading with me not to go back again - to be like Ron and just stay home for the year. It’s as though she thinks it’s going to be like last year, or worse.” Ginny stared out the window wishing there was countryside to take in, determined to not look at either of the other two inhabitants of the compartment. “Just absolutely wailing since sunrise this morning. Ron left for the shop early so that he wouldn’t have to take it.” 

Harry pulled her from the window to lean on him, saying nothing. He knew how Molly Weasley could get when it came to her children, an attachment made even worse given the year’s events. He also knew how deeply it affected Ginny to see her mother so hysterical. 

“I know it’s a bit of a moot point, but we’ll all be safe this term. There’s no way Headmistress McGonagall would allow any more shit to go down in her castle this year. She’d burn it down herself before it happened again.” Hermione stated confidently, making Ginny and Harry both snort. “Besides, we have a completely full roster of dependable professors this term, and really even if we  _ didn’t _ we still have Professor Lupin-”

Hermione cut herself off, but it was already too late. The look of surprise on the couple’s faces were immediate and eerily synchronized. Overlapping hollers of “You didn’t  _ tell _ me?!” and “Is he actually back!?” were virtually indistinguishable due to the sheer increase in decibel level of the compartment. Blushing heavily, Hermione was thankful for the sudden intrusion of Luna, Dean, and Seamus into their compartment, thinking that she would mercifully be let off easy by their entrance.

She was sorely mistaken. 

The three new occupants had not yet breathed their own morning greetings before Ginny had relayed her slip of tongue. Now, not only did she have the playfully indignant eyes of The Boy Who Lived and his emotionally compromised girlfriend, but also the curious and excitable attention of the rest of their party. She could  _ almost  _ claim that this was the most intimidated she had felt since her June adventure to Kingsley’s office.. But not quite. Quickly and gracelessly she plucked a random hefty tome from her purse and feigned innocence.

Ginny continued to berate her for answers, previous conversation entirely forgotten. “Hermione, my friend, goddess of all of our lives, Most Intelligent Witch of Her Age, how could you keep such drastic information from your most closest of friends?!” she cried dramatically, leaning into Harry as though about to faint.

“‘Most closest’ is not grammatically correct, Ginevra.” Hermione spoke over her book, not at all concentrating on the text. 

Luna, who had decided to sit to her immediate right, craned her neck to share her blank stare at the text, which was very obviously upside down. “Ah, yes, but it is in spirit! Now, about those professors..” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling to herself, and snapped the book shut. “I know nothing.” 

“I’m calling bullshit - Hermione Granger, not knowing something? Never heard of such a thing,” Seamus chimed in in mock horror. 

“Or maybe..” Dean started in a conspiratorial tone, “maybe our little genius has finally found an end to the everlasting knowledge! Egad! Could this be true?!” The whole compartment took in the equivalent of a high school drama production’s stage gasp, staring in wonder at Hermione.

Her refusal to answer led to them pestering her for information until the train’s whistle finally sounded at 11. Shocked by the sudden and loud noise, they all cut conversation and sat stock still until the train had adopted a consistent speed. It was only at this point that Hermione realized that Seamus had substituted in for a different member of their group. Upon asking Luna, who seemed to have spent the most time with him recently, the usually high-spirited younger girl had adopted a much more downcast nature. She quietly told Hermione of how Neville had just recently found out his own parents had not survived the war, the Death Eaters having torn them from St. Mungo’s midway through the previous school year and bodies recovered soon after. His grandmother refused to let him know until the week previous, when he threatened to visit them without her. With a sad smile, she said that he would likely be joining the group at the Hogsmeade platform, but there were no guarantees.

Hermione felt sick. She didn’t hear a word about Mungo’s in the past year, and it never occurred to her to even consider Voldemort’s effect there. 

“No one else knows, so we should probably keep it quiet, yeah?” Luna told her rather than asked, squeezing her hand. Hermione nodded, wordlessly in shock.

Turning to the window, she stared at the landscape racing past them and took in the world around her - the soft murmur of the rest of the compartment’s conversation, the glass radiating coolness against her skin, the dark grey of the clouded sky that seemed to have been following them, the silent rumble of the engine room nearby. She recalled her fifth year, when they had met Neville’s parents for the first and only time while Arthur was hospitalized - if the love and care that he had on his face while interacting with his parents told her anything, it was that Neville was likely devastated by their deaths. It was one thing to be beaten, starved, and tortured by Death Eaters for a year. It was another entirely to have your parents quietly killed in the background by the same people without your knowledge.

She had never been so sure in her life that her decision to erase her own parents’ memories was the right one. Even though she would never get to see them again, at least she knew that they could live a full life without fear of being hunted ever again, a reassurance she needed while there were still Death Eaters on the roundup. 

Once again, the distinct shattering feeling grew larger in her chest - which was not to say it ever truly disappeared in the first place. She had mostly grown used to it, but sometimes it would take her off guard and plunge her back into the morning after the battle. She could practically smell the unique scent of the Hospital Wing, see in her mind every individual wound she tended, every fallen person she cleaned, feel the weight of the numerous potions bottles that filtered through her hands. Though she knew she was still physically on the Hogwarts Express surrounded by her closest friends, it was as though her mind had taken a great jump off of a cliff. Through the great grey expanse of the sky, she relived now not only the experience of dressing Lavender’s broken body, but also every curse flung at her by snatchers and the torment of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her thoughts were not broken when Luna gently took up her hand, having noticed her increasing frown and determined stare. Hermione remained this way, uninterrupted by her compartment, for the entire ride.

\----

She was gently brought back to the current realm by Harry in a newly empty compartment, everyone having quietly agreed it was for the best for the two of them to figure it out. Truthfully, this had not been the first time Harry had been the one to bring her back from some far-off place - sometimes, she relived entire days she had experienced with her parents before everything had fallen apart, other times it was one or two short little snippets of an interaction cycling through her head without end. Today was little different.

She did not look at Harry as she mentally pulled herself back together, and only responded with a curt nod when asked if she was alright. Moving to leave the compartment, she was unceremoniously pulled back in by her friend, evidently quite irritated by her aloof attitude. 

“Hermione would you please just talk to me?” Harry snapped, positioning himself between her and the door. 

She stared him dead in the eyes and was silent a brief moment before speaking, “I see you have offered me no other choice. Do you need something?”

“Do  _ you _ ? Because all it seems you do, and have been doing, has been staring off into space for weeks or burying yourself in books. It’s not right, Mione.” 

“I don’t recall having requested an inquisition into my current state of being,” she said coldly. 

Harry let out a frustrated puff of air, trying to keep himself level-headed to little avail. “You know, you’re impossible to work with sometimes. When you’re ready to talk, know we’re all here, as a  _ group _ , for  _ each other _ . You know, like  _ friends _ .”

He bit out the last word with more vitriol than intended, and immediately blushed a deep red with flustered regret. He tried to fumble his way through some odd sentence before declaring they both should get off the train as the others were likely waiting.

She couldn’t agree more.

Both thankful to get away from the odd conversation, they found their friends on the platform, not much further ahead than they would have been given how packed the area was. It was surprising to see so many people - a good half Hermione didn’t recognize, but a number she knew vaguely from her first few years; it seemed as though the students that had been pulled out of Hogwarts by their parents early on had decided it was time to return for a final year or two. She was amazed that this number of youths were still around, alive, and well enough to continue to attend school, though most looked distinctly unhappy; she attributed this more to the current downpour of rain that had finally come to smother the travel-weary students than the return to Hogwarts in and of itself.

Notably, Neville could not be found through the entirety of the crowd. She met the eyes of Luna, who gave her another sad smile and shake of the head. 

_ That poor boy..  _

The group joined together again and meandered along with the slow-moving crowd, picking up a few friends along the way. The Patil twins had ended up returning, and Milicent Bulstrode had budged on through the tightly woven crowd to say hello to Hermione and thank her again for her help over the summer. Daphne Greengrass and Justin Finch-Fletchly were also seen, an overall surprising turnout for their year level. 

“I’m not quite sure if anyone’s noticed, but we don’t seem to be moving?” Ginny suddenly pointed out, looking around in a complete circle. “Dean, anything to report from up there?”

Dean, being the tallest of the group, braced himself on Seamus and stood on his tiptoes to look over the crowd. With a concerned frown, he came back down again. “It uh.. Well.. have there always been big... bony horses with wings? Or is that new?” he stuttered, looking unsure of himself. 

“Oh yes, I’ve been telling you all about them for years! Thestrals are really quite wonderful creatures.” Luna beamed, “They’re entirely harmless, right Harry?”

“Yeah, never had a problem with them… d’you think that more people can see them now? And that’s what’s wrong?” he asked nervously. If students were now seeing animals that were only visible after witnessing and internalizing death -

“I guess good old Hogwarts is a few degrees more fucked up than it was previously.” Seamus observed, leaning into Dean. 

Eventually, the crowd did start moving again. From their position, Dean parrotted back to them that professor Grubby-Plank had been pulled from Hogwarts to station beside the carriages, and could be seen talking with visibility intimidated and scared students. When it came to their turn, the group gave a brief hello and words of encouragement to their already worn-down teacher before piling themselves into the nearest carriage, all eager for the food that awaited them.

\----

Their entrance to Hogwarts proper was met with mixed feelings; Seamus and Dean both looked hesitant and borderline ill, Luna was outwardly unaffected, Ginny set a distinct ‘no bullshit’ purpose to her step and shoulders, Harry looked wistful and nostalgic, and Hermione could not, for the life of her, keep the look of borderline despondency from her face. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t happy to be back, in fact she was rather thankful to be in the place she was most her honest self, but she couldn’t help but remember what it had looked like only months previous, and how many bodies were still reported as missing.

The distinct, warm glow of the magical flames in the entrance hall gave a distinctly juxtaposed demeanour to their internal strife. She could see the level of cleaning that the castle had gone under, well beyond the ability of Filch, that left it looking oddly spotless instead of lived-in and homelike. It was as though the castle was presenting as an object of sale, rather than one of education and home. This mood changed somewhat upon entering the Great Hall itself, which all at once felt larger and smaller than she last saw it. Perhaps it was due to the incredibly large number of living, moving, active bodies - or it was because the massive hole that had once blown the roof half off was finally fully repaired and devoid of its corresponding rubble. The flags designating each house table were hung over their corresponding tables, as was tradition. By the time everyone had found a good seat, it was obvious that the tables, and perhaps the hall itself, had been lengthened, likely to increase the capacity for the large number of students attending that year.

Hermione scanned the high table, looking at the new faces that she did not recognize, of which she counted six. Very surprisingly, Professor Lupin, after waving to them across the hall, fell into a very animated conversation with none other than Percy Weasley, who was sat next to him at the table. Even Ginny was surprised, and had to be physically restrained from running to her brother immediately to see what in Merlin’s name he was there for. This did not, however, stop her from incessantly attempting to grab his attention during the sorting ceremony.

The ceremony itself took what felt like ages, for the fact of the matter was not only did the newest batch of first years require sorting, but so too did all new students of every year level and the muggleborns from the year previous that had not received their letters. Each house received up to 50 new or returning students, most coming for either their first or their last handful of years and consisting of almost no pureblood children. Once again, Hermione was stunned at the sheer number of students, and wondered if this would’ve been how it always looked had there not been a war. 

When it finally came to the introduction of the new members of staff, Ginny once again had to be physically restrained from calling out her brother in front of the entire school. As it had turned out, Percy was the new Transfiguration teacher, filling the role now that McGonagall was headmaster. 

“I mean I’m happy he finally left the ministry and all, but  _ he could have told us _ !” Ginny whispered, shocked at his blatant secrecy. The last time any of them had heard, he was still working as Kingsley’s personal assistant. 

Lupin was introduced as well, being new to anyone in their fifth year or below. McGonagall both stated that he was Order of Merlin, First Class, and acknowledged both his previous stint in the role and why it ended by a forced hand due to his lycanthropy. 

“Transparency is of the utmost importance to all that work here. Under the care of this administration, Hogwarts is fully dedicated to cultivating  _ inclusivity _ and  _ understanding _ , no matter where our differences lie - anything less, as we have all experienced very recently, is borderline criminal.” she stated, no question in the room as to what precisely she was alluding to. Headmaster McGonagall was clearly taking no questions on the matter, and allowed her statement to sink in a moment before continuing.

The new potions professor was a very tall and kind looking Russian man in his late 40’s by the name of Kischak - no first name given; Ljubica Zadro, a short, tan woman with curly hair filled the position of muggle studies professor, announcing a reworked and updated syllabus to accommodate for the current age; Murad Cotter, a short Pakistani man, was the Alchemy specialist brought in for the special class; Emerson Finn, the willowy and androgenous Ancient Studies professor; Johann Frey, a wild-looking individual with bushy hair, professor of Magic Theory in the past; and Theo Gardiner, a perfectly milquetoast and average looking white man, was their new Music professor.

Following this, the term’s announcements began; details about the start of the quidditch season, warnings to new students about the Forbidden Forest, and that the Hospital Wing had remained on the fourth floor over the summer rather than moving. Typical of opening feasts, McGonagall finished off with a warning.

“In closing, I would like to also inform you all that the left seventh-floor corridor is off limits due to severe magical and structural damage during last May’s events. Though it may  _ look _ perfectly safe, I assure all of you it is  _ anything but _ .” 

Ginny turned to Harry and Hermione, confused. “I thought you two said the entire school was fixed?”

“That’s outside the Room of Requirement - must’ve been the fiendfyre.” Harry said, eyebrows raised. “Hermione, did you happen to work on it?”

She shook her head distractedly. “Most of the repair I had worked on was on the first three floors. Few people willingly went up that number of stairs, I guess.” 

Ginny did not look convinced.

Turning back to the head table, Hermione began matching the new professors’ names, faces, and whatever she could get about their mannerisms from them. She was weary of the new Potions Master; something about his demeanour was distinctly odd to her, yet quite familiar - a vague memory of an old pastor from her parents’ church sprung to mind, but it didn’t quite fit the bill as he was far too young, leaving behind an odd void of deja-vu. 

She was brought from her scrutiny by the beginning of the feast and subsequent arrival of Neville, looking mortified, who immediately began talking.

“Filch stopped and nearly  _ frisked _ me! Refused to believe I was who I was until Grubby-Plank came by the gates and marched me in herself. I swear, the man gets more insane with every passing year..” he said instead of a greeting, plopping himself down across the table from Hermione. 

The group, sans Luna who had returned to her own table, smothered him with their good-natured teasing about his lateness while they tucked into the massive feast. Hermione did her best to catch Neville’s eye and gave him a brief, concerned look, hoping it was enough to wordlessly convey that she understood the context of his lateness, though his shrugged response wasn’t enough to determine if her message was conveyed. She hoped the coming year would be kinder to him - to all of them, really.

As they ate their way through their evening’s conversations, the entire hall seemed to be willing to relax wholeheartedly. All student tables had taken to an array of rambunctious natures when it was evident their new Headmistress had far less militant views on the formality of a child’s existence than her predecessor. Even the professors had taken somewhat to the increasing joviality of the room, many unable to restrain themselves from, at the very least, visibly hiding their amusement, and at the most, encouraging it - as was the case with Professor Flitwick, who could be seen joining in the end of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables’ game of parchment volleyball. The ghosts, too, occasionally joined in on impassioned conversations between students, or else chose to perform stunts of varying degrees with their fellow dead brethren. 

For a little window in time, the war never happened, loss wasn’t permanent, and the spirits of many found nourishment, both literally and figuratively. This feeling of shared euphoria followed everyone through their evenings, comforting those that had been unsure of attending, be it the newest additions, homesick for the first time, or the returning heroes of war, unsure if they could ever find somewhere of permanence again. 

Regardless, to all its inhabitants, the haven Hogwarts once was no longer felt like a distant memory - it was here; alive, flourishing, and willing to survive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to write and publish these chapters in overarching sections so I don't leave on hiatus or something mid-concept but as we can all see that may give rise to uhh relatively irregular posting schedules so sorry kids have a good day drink some water go outside and see a flower or something
> 
> also something i forgot to say when i first posted this is that uhh these new profs aren't some sort of #diversitygrab they're literally just a number of my favourite people in my life and let me tell you this existence is a WILD one


	9. Education is the existence of exhaustion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry for not posting for a while!! my thesis advisor needed a bunch of documents by the 14th, I may be going back to work in September, i repainted my dining room and kitchen, my dog died, and my bank card got frauded for the second time in 6 months!! sometimes life really do be like that and damn my therapist is gonna have a Time with me when I go back next lol

The first week back was grueling, though in a very different way than what many had become accustomed to. The mental exhaustion of having to find their ways through newly updated and more rigorous curriculums after focusing so long on simply the process of living was difficult, even for the professors who seemed well and truly scattered by the first Friday of term. 

Though the halls all held their familiar twists and turns, ghosts and paintings giving an echo of existence even in the quietest wings, the returning eighth years found themselves feeling somewhat lost and alone, especially between classes when they were permitted time to decompress. They were all thankful that they had been allotted a new and separate inter-house common room, nearer to the staff living areas than their own houses, as the quirks sourced from years of mental stress, and in some cases, physical damage, occasionally required adult intervention. Quite a few suffered from severe insomnia - every night, it had quickly become ritual for a small group from all house origins to appear from their respective rooms and gather around the fireplace in a silent sense of commiseration. Others had become shut-aways, mostly engrossed in what newest obsession they had picked up over the summer; this group was directly contrasted against those that could no longer focus for the life of them or else couldn’t fathom the energy to care in the first place. Those from the Order and the DA knew for certain that there were likely the same issues in the older populations of their native common rooms. 

In total, there were 15 returning 8th years, surprisingly including none other than Draco Malfoy. As an act of mercy to a deserter, he had been legally cleared just days before the start of term for a year of house arrest at Hogwarts where he would be permitted to finish his education under the ever-present and watchful eyes of the new administration. The rest of his returning class had no energy left to fight his presence in the castle, and any resistance on the matter was squashed with the utmost finality when McGonagall herself showed up to their common room to have words with them regarding the matter - apparently, the Wizengamot had justified the decision by acknowledging how he was torn from his studies and coerced to serve for fear of execution or imprisonment and ultimately did end up defecting during Hogwarts’ great battle. Though highly unusual for the Ministry to have any sense, the students simply nodded and understood. It had been months and a number of Death Eaters were still unaccounted for, a reminder occurring to the public once every few weeks when a defector or informant to the Ministry went missing or was reported dead. Undoubtedly, the young Malfoy would quickly turn into a high-profile target, and the Ministry was attempting to curb further losses to the magical population. 

On a more casual basis, both Harry and Hermione found it difficult at first to acclimate back into the high involvement, low-stakes environment - they had become so accustomed to their combined weight of responsibility over the past year that it felt distinctly weird when, at their first morning in classes, they were assigned the mundane task of homework from Professor Finn, who had been overjoyed at their class of only nine students. They had assigned the class a short reading on possible involvement of magic in the creation of the pyramids as a class starter, intended to act both as an introduction and as a soft start. 

By the end of the day on Wednesday, they were visibly fully exhausted. Harry had practically fallen asleep by the end of their DADA class, a slight which was allowed and easily forgiven by Professor Lupin. It wasn’t until the first weekend, of which they had fully intended to spend studying together with Ginny, that either of them came out of the fervent beginning-of-term scramble. 

Hermione woke groggy and disoriented, unsure of which way was up. Flailing out of the strangled constraints of her bedsheets, she smacked her head against a bedpost in her first attempt to stand, succeeding the second time only by bracing herself on the same offending section of furniture. She could practically feel how large her hair had grown during the night, confirmed by the insurmountable frizz which constituted the plait attempted the night previous. Grumbling to herself, she made her way through her morning rituals, eventually making herself up to look somewhat presentable to whomever would be in the common room. Before she left her room, she stuffed the letters she had received and refused to read during the week into her bookbag and warded it against unwanted visitors.

Thankfully the common room was empty, putting off her first interaction with humanity for at least another little while. She wound her way through Hogwarts’ halls silently, eventually joining Harry and Ginny in a previously agreed upon abandoned classroom. The two looked about as wrecked as she felt and gave only feeble greetings, minds scattered across numerous sheets of reference papers, syllabi, and textbooks that covered no less than 6 desks accumulated into the center of the room. Taking up her own spot at the great table, she began making her way through her mail.

Most of the letters were of little consequence; daily check-in notes from Molly, a request from Hagrid to come down to have tea that afternoon, an unmarked letter, and a brief letter from Ron wishing them all the best in the term constituted most of the pile. The rest were all update letters from the ministry, more frequent than they had been previously. Popping open the envelope from the bottom of the pile, she began reading the exceptionally short note. 

_ 02/09/1998 _

_ Ms. H. J. Granger, _

_ Your Department of Mysteries inquiry has been approved for the second step of the indictment process.  _

_ Regards, _

_ J. Adams _

_ DoM Liaison Office _

Frowning, she threw the letter at Harry, neither flinching when she managed to hit him directly in the face, and set to work on the next in the series. 

_ 03/09/1998 _

_ Ms. H. J. Granger,  _

_ Your Department of Mysteries inquiry has been approved for the third step of the indictment process. _

_ Regards,  _

_ J. Adams _

_ DoM Liaison Office _

Hermione paused, staring blankly at the note. It had been months since she started to get the Ministry update letters.  _ Why are there only developments happening now? _ Deciding to move to the most recent letter on the pile, she gently pried it open and took a deep breath. Two options lay in her mind: either they would still be in stage three of the indictment process (of which she knew not how many steps there were total), or they could be at completion, assuming there was no step 7. She looked up at Harry and Ginny, both having not taken the time to take a look at the initial letter. 

_ 7.9.1998 _

_ Dear Ms Granger, _

_ Upon review of your original complaint, the Department of Mysteries are requesting a second, formal interview in relation to the indictment made against our office on 8.6.1998. An interview may take place at any time in the month following the opening of this letter. We request only that you appear alone. _

_ Should you wish to continue, please write your consent on the reverse of this parchment, reseal the letter, and make use of the  _ Aetpanea _ return spell. Should you have difficulty, contact Ms. Adams at the Liaison Office. _

_ Kind regards. _

The letter held no sign off. Hissing in frustration, Hermione nearly threw away the letter in its entirety, only changing her mind when she noticed the eyes of Harry and Ginny. 

“I am absolutely  _ done _ with this Ministry secrecy shite.” she said, throwing the three still unopened letters at the two of them. 

Looking through all the letters, both Harry and Ginny developed incredibly confused looks on their faces. Taking the sheets from her partner, Ginny stared blankly at the assorted pile. 

“Hermione.. these are empty to us. There’s nothing on them.” She stacked them neatly and walked them over to Hermione’s corner of the table. “Let’s see the last one, then?”

Hermione begrudgingly handed over the letter still in her hand. When Ginny shrugged and shook her head, she couldn’t help the cry of frustration that came forth.

“Leave it to the ministry to personally make sure every single thing you do with them is a God damn struggle.”

Harry had not yet looked at her, choosing to instead study the wall of the classroom, deeply in thought. “You don’t think they know we’re hiding something from them, do they?”

Hermione looked incredulous. “What, the bastard door in our kitchen that  _ all of our friends and the Order know about _ ? Or are we being secretive about some other wildly obvious thing in our lives?”

“Well.. honestly, Mione, you came across pretty accusingly in Kings’ office. And not really in a ‘how dare you’ kind of way…” Harry trailed off, still looking pensive. “If they read into it a little too far, or felt like they were having their toes tread on, they might be rightfully a little mad.”

“This coming from the guy who thought Malfoy was the crux of all evil for.. how many years, again?” Ginny joked, returning to her seat.

“Was I wrong?”

“Is Hermione?”

Harry rolled his eyes, nodding in defeat and returning to his homework.

Hermione, knowing she should do the same and simply move on, sped through the final unmarked letter. 

_ Hermione, _

_ I’ve just received word from the DoM Liaison Office that your inquiry has gone through. I am surprised this has happened at all. Please keep in mind - this department tends to go around in circles and refuse to cooperate and you are by no means at the end of your journey.  _

_ It may be best to leave Harry out of the next few steps. The more people they work with, the more reclusive they become. _

_ Best wishes, _

_ Kingsley _

“No shit.” she whispered to herself, crumpling it into a ball with all but the most recent ministry letters and casting a precise  _ incendio _ before propping her station up with a number of textbooks. Having lost her entire morning to sleep, she would have to work even harder to make sure she was where her schedule needed her to be by sundown. 

The letter, stuffed gracelessly into her beaded purse, practically burned a hole in her mind through the rest of the day. Though she went through the movements, committing to memory her readings and eloquently constructing homework analyses, a part of her refused to focus or listen, instead obsessing over the possibilities that lay before her. 

\----

By Monday afternoon, she was consumed so intensely by the letter that she neglected to process a single word of her DADA class. Professor Lupin, having noticed her mental absence, tried to engage her numerous times by lowballing questions to the class to no avail. Hermione had, well and truly, completely caved inwards to the recesses of her own mind in her attempt to balance both her contempt for the ministry and her curiosity for what may come. 

Unfortunately for her, her professor was having none of it. Over the quiet thrum of students packing up their books, Lupin called for Hermione to stay back after class, eliciting a few side-eyes and hushed whispers from the seventh years. Ginny and Harry only gave her simple shrugs as they practically ran from the room to get to transfiguration at the other side of the school, both having been embarrassingly reprimanded the week previous by Percy for tardiness to class.

Hermione waited in silence at the front of the room while the students finished filing out and Lupin tidied up his desk, teaching outlines having been tossed every which way. 

“How was your first week back?”

“Good, I suppose. It’s been odd to try and acclimate to school.”

“Such is the case for many of us. I overheard Filius only a few days ago cursing himself for not retiring.”

Hermione gave a weak smile, still unsure of what to make of the conversation.

“How many courses are you in again?” Lupin asked nonchalantly, needlessly continuing to move around various items on his now straightened out desk. 

“Ten, sir. Eleven if you count auditing Potions.” 

He frowned and looked up to her. “Whose decision was that?”

Hermione shifted on her feet uncomfortably. She had thought he would be giving her a talking to for not paying attention, not judging her decisions.

“It was mine.” she said quietly, staring out the window to avoid eye contact. 

Silence took the room as Lupin took a closer look at his student. She looked, for lack of a better term, utterly unkempt and not at all her usual put-together self. Typical of most of the eighth years, under eye bags of sleeplessness were drawn heavily on her face matched in depth by untended smudges of ink across her hands and face. Even her posture reflected the physical and mental exhaustion present, as for the first time that he was aware of she saw her slouch with no indication of self-correction. And yet, despite all this, she continued to hold the reserved look of someone with weight on their mind.

“As your professor, it is not my business to be inquiring about your personal life and wellbeing. As your  _ friend _ , however..” Lupin shrugged, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms with an expectant look on his face. 

She responded blankly, still not looking from the window. “With all due respect professor, I intend to uphold professional boundaries. It just.. feels better this way.”

“I see.” 

Taking a deep breath and pushing himself from the chair, he began walking to the door of the classroom, indicating their meeting was over. “I have an agreement with Minevra to allow Tonks and Teddy to come up to the school on weekends. She gets ridiculously bored staying at home with Andromeda all week - honestly, I’m not sure how the two are even related - and  _ loves _ to talk my ear off. You may not want to talk about your problems with me, I do understand that, but I would appreciate it if you would at least talk to someone reliable.”

Following Lupin quietly, she began a stream of self reflection. Truth be told, she  _ did _ need someone to talk to. Badly. Every night without fail, she would be incapable of falling asleep, plagued by what felt like infinite rivers of dread for the upcoming day. When she did fall asleep she did so fitfully, never able to remember her dreams but always knowing that she had just witnessed something terrifying. Every day as she walked her way through the corridors she recalled every bit of damage to the castle, tagging in her mind the rogue bits of clothing or suspiciously large piles of ash that indicated human presence that they would come by, signs of the still unidentified dead of the battle. Though it had been months, the wound on her arm given by Bellatrix had also not healed in the slightest and remained an angry, red, occasionally bleeding scar. Even the scar from Dolohov’s curse still caused her issues sometimes, come to think of it. And in addition to all of it, she still felt incomplete and hollow - as though her job was still not complete and if she just waited for long enough she would be given some new task. 

_ But I’m not the only one that’s feeling wrong _ , she thought, angry at herself for even caring to take a tally. 

Stopping just before the door, Hermione stopped and turned back to Lupin. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”    
  
He gave an odd look of confusion, “Yes? Should I be doing so more?”

She shrugged. “None of the students talk about any of it. Anything they’re feeling or thinking. Least of all him. It seems many of them are in a state of denial - rejection against their lost time, I suppose. He’s really struggled in the past with people fighting in his name, so God knows how he’s dealing with the rest.” 

“I’ll owl him for tea at some point this week. Thanks, Hermione.” 

They both nodded their goodbyes and parted ways. Lupin, back to his desk to write a letter to his wife requesting her help, and Hermione to the nearest empty classroom to write a letter of her own.

_ To whom it may concern, _

_ I give my full consent for further interviews on my DoM indictment. Please advise on time and location of meeting in advance.  _

_ H. J. Granger _

Blatantly guessing at the wandwork needed for the unknown return spell, she managed on only her second try. The only confirmation was a return letter with nothing but a date on it.

_ 14:45 September 7, 1998 _

Checking her watch quickly she saw it was 14:44.

“Oh for the love of Fuck-”

The remainder of her sentence was cut off as she was portkeyed from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "4hx3n4 you can't portkey within hogwarts!" bro i know i,, i know! i'm aware. i also don't care bro honestly sometimes artistic liberties are fun and engaging at at this point i think i'm ready to be found in a canal somewhere like for real
> 
> This chapter may be rewritten at some point in the far future b/c i feel like it's written weirdly but right now god damn u know what no betas we die like idiots and write in the same manner that the bastards that wrote music theory treatises in t he 1700's did y e e t


	10. Department of Mistakes

Resie Vanderbaume did not like children.

Correction: she did not have the patience for them.

Life consisted of far more mysteries than accountable for in a single human mind, and by Merlin, each and everyone child she had ever met would not stop trying to figure it all out. She couldn’t stand it; at family holidays when her nieces and nephews would badger her with questions, when she passed kids on the street giving their adults a hard time (the exchange of “Why can’t we go to the  _ fun  _ shops?” “We’re here for business, sweetheart, not fun.” “But  _ why _ ?” irritated her to no end), even her peers in her childhood would drive her insane. Though there is always a reason to question things, it being a part of human nature, there was absolutely no reason for a child to continue to pry so insidiously. It was in the nature of her job to accept that some things are better left unknown, and work around these isolated factors for a better wide-breadth understanding of many vague concepts. 

It was because of this defining quality that receiving an indictment from a child prodigy against her entire department caused Resie much frustration. Not only had the event happened years previous, not only did it involve the least understood object in the entire Department of Mysteries, but she understood from further correspondence that the child was very, very unlikely to drop it at any point, meaning there was little to no chance that she could get away with charming automatically sent letters until issued a C&D. 

Though standard procedure, this method of response with the public was never with ill intent; sometimes research just took lifetimes to complete, something an individual cannot simply explain to a civilian. Some things, regardless of the time spent, possessed an innate stubbornness that kept them mystified perpetually. The Veil was one of these phenomena. The truth of the matter was, after hundreds of years of its existence and research of every shape and form, not a single person living or dead could explain the nature of the Veil. In her prime, Resie was considered the brightest witch of her era - ever inquisitive and driven to learn - and her superiors truly believed she would be the first to make a breakthrough. 

It had been nearly 80 years, two full rotations of Department administration turnovers, and she had nothing to show for anything. No changes, no newly discovered literature, not a single culture in the world possessed a story that could be even vaguely interpreted to understand its source, no one that went in came out regardless of reason or attempt; it did not care how she poked, prodded, threw things at, cursed, jinxed, hexed, talked to, shouted at, or burned. Every day, she would come back to the room, and it would be the exact same as the day previous.    
  
Such was the case until May 6, 1998, when ex-convict Sirius Black appeared out of nowhere, directly in front of her, in the middle of the day, completely unawares, four days after the death of Voldemort. 

The report, as filed by her coworker Amburo, failed to mention the initial screaming stream of expletives hollered by both parties; Sirius’ directed at an immediately exasperated Resie as he believed he still existed mid-battle, Resie’s directed at the still unchanged arch for misbehaving while she wasn’t looking. The report also failed to mention her initial disregard for Sirius, intent instead on finding some sort of flaw or change on the Veil to no avail, which only turned to the thoroughly discombobulated man after sufficiently determining no change. Where Amburo’s recollection of events formally began was mid-interview with their new charge, after the point at which all parties had thoroughly expunged themselves of all their frustration with layers of disbelief and just before Sirius formally announced he had no recollection of what was beyond the veil. 

The report ended soon thereafter.

What frustrated Resie the most about the entire situation was the absolute, distinct, insurmountable  _ audacity _ of Hermione Granger to assume after all this time that she, a child, could ever understand the intricacies of an object older than magical history’s existence in Britain. What further drove her to anger was the possibility that the child may have been right.

It was not with happiness that Resie Vanderbaume sent her reply to the department liaison requesting the presence of Miss Granger. Out of spite, she sent the letter charmed with a Syrian version of the more commonly known  _ Reverte _ spell. If the girl was anything like she was as a youth, she would deal with it with little issue - something that Resie wasn’t sure reassured her or contributed to her bitterness. Regardless, a consistent thought remained in the front of her mind: she simply did not enjoy fraternizing with children.

\----

It took Hermione more than a quick minute to re-orient herself in what she could only assume was the Department of Mysteries. Or rather, a nondescript waiting room somewhere within it; though she recognized the brickwork and feeling of unease that was given off, she had never been in this section in her previous Ministry forays. The room itself was not particularly large, with what looked like a single closed door in and out, a smattering of old and dusty chairs lining the walls broken up occasionally by equally aged side tables, and a single obscure painting of a landscape. Checking the letter still clutched in her hand for any updated information or instructions, she found no indication of what to do next. 

Turning around the completely still and quiet room, she quickly came to notice the carpet under her feet had evidently not been tended to in quite some time, as small puffs of dust came up with each step. Sighing, she resigned herself to standing as still as possible so that, at the very least, she wouldn’t end up breathing in some sort of dangerous magical dust - if she learned anything from cleaning Grimmauld in her fifth year it was that even completely regular occurrences in the magical world could end up being absolutely insidious. Checking her watch, she noted that it was already 14:46 - if she  _ was _ supposed to do anything, she was most certainly late.

_ Are they testing me? Am I supposed to do something? _ Hermione thought to herself, stress levels rising as she scanned the room yet again for some sort of hint.  _ Maybe the painting? _ As gracefully and gently as possible, she moved toward the painting to scour its contents; the landscape itself was not familiar but did not seem altogether too generic. It seemed to be a fall scene composed of a wide lake and surrounded on all sides by large, gnarled, moss-covered deciduous trees. The ambient lighting in the room did little for her eyesight - she couldn’t for the life of her figure out if the water of the lake was flickering like a wizarding painting or simply due to the irregular light. She could see a small cottage on the far shore, but no one present to ask for assistance. Maybe there was someone obscured in the trees? Hogwarts had a few paintings of that nature - hidden away from the rest of the castle so as to not allow what lived just out of sight to run too far rampant in the more civilized paintings. She had heard rumours of a painting constantly moved containing a multitude of cockatrices which loved to terrorize nearby paintings and scare the students that roamed the halls at night, though with Hogwarts stories you never knew what was fact or fiction. Throwing caution to the wind for the sake of her meeting, Hermione gently prodded the edge of the painting to call the attention of any of its inhabitants; it wasn’t the most polite method, but it was surely the fastest.

Without warning and as loud as a shot through the air, the door suddenly swung open to reveal a thoroughly disheveled, short, older woman holding a thick stack of papers. Hermione, shocked out of her wits by the sudden intrusion, practically jumped out of her own skin as she whipped out her wand to the intruder who appeared distinctly uninterested.

“Miss Granger, I presume?” the woman asked stiffly, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the painting.

Slowing her breath, Hermione lowered her wand and stole a quick glance back at the painting which remained unchanged.

Continuing as though nothing odd was occurring, the woman continued her spiel. “Very sorry at the lack of punctuality. Despite what is believed about the Ministry, we  _ do _ have work to get done,” she said, shaking her head slightly in disgust. “Follow me, this should be only a few minutes.” 

As Hermione began to follow what she supposed was her interviewer, she took one final look at the painting, committing it to memory just in case. The voice of Mad-Eye echoed in her head commanding “constant vigilance!”, reminding her also to ensure her route was memorized, though it was debatable how useful the information would be as it did not connect, as far as she knew, to a link back to the outside.

Thankfully their journey was surprisingly short as she was brought to a slightly open door with a small brass plaque which read “O1”. The woman waved Hermione in ahead of her and into a comfortable-looking chair, closing the door behind her with the same distinct snap that she opened the waiting room door, and took up her own well-stuffed chair across the room. 

Addressing the pile of papers in her lap, Resie left no time for awkward dead air, “Right. Well. You’re here to discuss reparations… ‘Undue duress’, is it? And something to do with the House of Black?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She continued, still not looking up from her papers and prepping a new quill. “I see. Could you please explain, in full detail, what brought you to the decision that the House of Black has something to do with the current state of events?” 

Hermione frowned. There was something about referring to Sirius by his house that sat strangely with her - as though the woman was intentionally dehumanizing him. Clearing her throat, she began to explain her reasoning. “ _ Sirius Black _ ’s return is the result of simple cause and effect, tangential logic, I suppose, connecting the reappearance of an unidentified door within his ancestral home at Grimmauld Place. It is believed the same curse source that obscured this door from our knowledge is the one which obscured Sirius through the veil.”

Resie held up her hand for Hermione to pause, scribbling furiously, before gesturing for her to continue.

“We have had multiple curse-breakers come to examine the door, try and trigger mechanisms or charms, destroy it, whatever we could do to somehow cause anything to happen to no avail. This suggests that it is.. it  _ was _ only in the past in a magicked state.” 

At this point, Hermione realized she was simply making up words to fill the air. Truth be told, there was nothing else to say - every single aspect of the door and Sirius’ expected resurrection was pure conjecture. She had no idea how Bellatrix would have had reason to charm some random door into nonexistence, and further had no reason to assume she could have had any of the power required to (possibly) suspend Sirius’ existence.

Though she didn’t show it, Resie, too was growing quite frustrated. Everything made theoretical sense, even the connections between door and man, but there was some sort of critical aspect missing. Even magic has rules. This interaction didn’t.

Sighing, Resie packed up her notes and stood from her chair. “Sometimes magic is a frustrating thing, Miss Granger. Often it’s workings are arbitrary. I’m sorry for your personal experience in the Department, but there is no reason to assume any of your theories are correct.” 

“But I know-” Hermione began, but was immediately cut off by a severe look from Resie.

“No. You don’t. You do not know, and it’s not at all possible for you  _ to _ know. Do not assume the nature of something you have limited knowledge and experience with. If anything I’ve heard of you is correct, you should know better.” Opening her office door with a wave of her hand, she took to mindlessly looking through the large bookcases which lined the walls of her office as she waited for the sounds of Hermione’s exit.

When the sound did not come and she turned around to see the young witch unmoved and unimpressed, Resie came back to her one and only conclusion: she did not have the patience for children.

“I believe our meeting is adjourned. Do you require an escort? I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“I came to discuss reparations.”

“There are none to be made. You broke multiple laws when you came into our department, most of which would have you rejected from Wizarding society. If you had had a shred of common sense, you would’ve never lost your friend in the first place.”

Hermione scoffed, “and if  _ your _ department hadn’t left the  _ front door wide open _ , none of the children or Death Eaters would’ve been able to get in in the first place.”

Resie blushed a deep crimson. She never knew who had left unchecked access to the other rooms in the ministry, but she knew full well who had left the Veil Room unattended. As the only person in the world with unlimited access to the room, she had no excuse in forgetting to charm the door closed at the end of her day. Thankfully, none of her peers ever found out. She would take the secret to the grave.

She took a deep breath. “Miss Granger, the mistakes of the Ministry during the rise of Voldemort were many, but they were not ours. I will be the first to admit, there should have been no way for  _ anyone _ to access our department. The fact we approved the Order of the Phoenix's request for access to a single hall was a mistake in and of itself, but we feared the anger of Dumbledore far more than we have ever even thought of the impact of Voldemort. If you demand reparations from anyone for this event, with every reason imaginable it should be from him.”

The two held a quiet standoff, both ruminating on what Resie had just said. In truth, Hermione had never considered the situation in this manner - why  _ had _ Dumbledore conveniently left the country that evening? How was it so easy to get into the Department? How were both sides able to navigate through the rooms so easily? Why did Dumbledore have a 16 year old kid try to learn Occlumency against one of the most powerful Legilimens in at least Great Britain? And as for Resie, did she perhaps imply too much? Anger often fuels ill-timed revelations, both witches knew this from experience. 

Hermione was the first to break the silence. “Take me to see Sirius Black.” It was neither a plea nor a request - it was a quiet demand.

“I cannot do that.”

Hermione nodded curtly. “Then send word when you can. I will wait. Thank you for your time.” Rising from her chair, she swiftly left the room and wound her way back through the maze to her original waiting room. Eyeing the landscape painting from her arrival, she quickly took it off the wall and shoved it gracessly into her purse just as the little slip of paper reading “ _ 14:45 September 7, 1998 _ ” began to glow. 

\-----

Staring into the fire in the common room, Hermione was at a loss as to what to think. She never feared Dumbledore, no one she knew feared him. It was ridiculous to think otherwise. Sure, he was a powerful wizard, but he wasn’t aggressive. She sighed and sank deeply into the nearest couch.  _ Utter fucking tosh… ridiculous _ . 

Pulling the landscape from her purse, she gave it a closer look and deemed it muggle. Weird for a Ministry-owned painting, though she decided not weird enough to care. Hearing someone coming from the portrait hole, she hollered over her shoulder, “anyone want a painting? I nicked it from the Ministry.”

The movements behind her stopped, and she held up the painting over her head so whoever it was could see. 

“I’m not particularly attached to it, but it should probably go to a loving home.”

Still no movement. 

Finally turning around, she found herself looking at none other than Draco Malfoy, looking as though he was a deer caught in headlights. Hermione squinted.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Transfiguraiton?”

Draco shrunk back even more, eyes darting between the painting and her face. “I’m in your alchemy cohort.” he said quietly.

“I take it you don’t want the painting, then.” 

He slowly shook his head.

“Unfortunate but understandable. Don’t tell anyone else where this came from. It would probably benefit neither of us.” 

Hermione rose and rested the painting gently on a nearby footstool. Looking at Draco and shrugging, she exited the room, leaving a painfully confused and moderately fearful Malfoy in her wake.

“That witch has finally lost it.” he whispered to the room.

* * *

(A/n: sorry for not posting for a long while. Finishing a degree during a pandemic is really weird and I lost all of my notes that I had developed for a while. Thank you also to everyone that have given reviews!! It really means a lot to me. Love you all, be safe, stay inside, have some fun, if you're in the states or canada and just experienced that fun little snow storm hydrate a bit of the snow and make a snowman!!)


End file.
